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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..0dbdf0b --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #68767 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/68767) diff --git a/old/68767-0.txt b/old/68767-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index e8f271d..0000000 --- a/old/68767-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,7766 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Rosaleen among the artists, by -Elizabeth Sanxay Holding - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: Rosaleen among the artists - -Author: Elizabeth Sanxay Holding - -Release Date: August 16, 2022 [eBook #68767] - -Language: English - -Produced by: Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at - http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images - available at The Internet Archive) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ROSALEEN AMONG THE -ARTISTS *** - - - - - - ROSALEEN AMONG THE ARTISTS - - ELISABETH SANXAY HOLDING - - - “_Rosaleen observed that this fiercely scorned and detested - sentimentality very often caused people to act with the greatest - nobility. While common-sense and enlightened self-interest seemed - frequently to bring forth incredible baseness._” - - - - - ROSALEEN - AMONG THE ARTISTS - - BY - ELISABETH SANXAY HOLDING - AUTHOR OF “INVINCIBLE MINNIE,” ETC. - - NEW YORK - GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY - - - PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA - - TO - E. E. S. - - - - -CONTENTS - - - PAGE -BOOK ONE: - -THE BETRAYAL 11 - -BOOK TWO: - -AMONG THE ARTISTS 113 - -BOOK THREE: - -FORLORN ROSALEEN 185 - -BOOK FOUR: - -THE HONOURABLE LOVERS 239 - - - - -BOOK ONE: THE BETRAYAL - - - - -CHAPTER ONE - - -No sooner had she got inside the door than the tears began to fall; and -all the way up the four flights of dark stairway they were raining down -her cheeks. She had to wipe them away before she could see to put the -latchkey into the lock. - -Everything neat, orderly, familiar; just as she had left it a few hours -ago, and all seeming in its blank sobriety to rebuke her for her -desperate hopes. She went into her own bare and chilly little room and -lay down on the cot there, sobbing forlornly, clutching in her hand the -card he had given her--a sort of talisman by means of which she could -reconstruct the enchanted hour of that afternoon. She remembered every -word he had said, every detail of his appearance. And, recollecting -them, wept all the more to think what she must forego. - -“_Of course_, I’ll never see him again!” she cried. “I’ll have to forget -all about him....” - -But she knew that she could not forget him. It seemed to her that she -had never seen so remarkable, so attractive a person. His face, when he -had turned round, that thin, dark face with its haughty nose, the -underlip scornfully protruding, the serious regard of his black eyes.... - -She had not particularly noticed him at first, except as a gaunt and -rather shabby young man sitting on the bench behind her on top of the -bus. She had been absorbed in watching Fifth Avenue, which had, on that -bright October afternoon, the absurd and exciting festival air it so -unaccountably assumes. She was solemnly happy, singing under her breath, -looking down at the people, the shops, the motor cars that were going -by; when there came a sudden violent jolt and the coin she was holding -had leaped out of her hand and fallen to the street below. And it was -the only one she had! - -She had sprung up in a panic; ready to jump off the bus and walk all the -long way home, but at the top of the little stairway she had met the -conductor coming up. - -“FARE!” he had said, with suspicion. - -“I just dropped it--a minute ago!” she explained. “I was ... I had a -quarter in my hand--and it fell out....” - -“Oh, it did, did it?” said he. - -“I’ll get off at once,” she said. - -“Oh, yes!” said the conductor. “Of course you dropped it! But you just -happened to be where you wanted to get off when you dropped it, though, -didn’t you?” - -She gave a miserable, deprecating smile, anxious only to escape from -this humiliation, to get away. When suddenly that young man had got up, -put a dime into the conductor’s register, and raised his hat -ceremoniously to Rosaleen. - -“Allow me!” he had said. - -“OH! Thank you!” she had cried. “Thank you!...” - -“Not at all!” said he. - -She had resumed her seat on the bench ahead of him, and tried to look -with exaggerated interest at the street. But she was terribly -distressed. She felt that she hadn’t said enough--not nearly enough. -Surely she ought at least to suggest repaying him, or something of that -sort;--not to sit there and ride along, with her back turned to him. - -And though of course she couldn’t know it, he was just as troubled. He -had heard her say that she had dropped a quarter, and it occurred to him -that she might very well need the rest of it badly, for more carfare, -perhaps, or something else very necessary.... In the course of time the -idea became intolerable. He leaned forward and touched her gently on -the shoulder; and she had turned to regard him with alarmed grey eyes. - -“I beg your pardon...” he began. “But ... I’d be very glad ... if you -would permit me....” - -He saw that she didn’t comprehend. - -“I overheard you say that it was a quarter you had dropped,” he said. -“If you--perhaps you particularly wanted the change...?” - -“Oh!... No!... No, thank you very much, indeed, but I don’t. I’m going -right home. I--No, thank you just the same!” - -She was so immeasurably grateful that she could not bear to turn her -back on him; she faced him, confused, but smiling, passionately anxious -to be nice to one who had been so nice to her. - -“Isn’t it a beautiful day?” she had said. - -“Yes, it is!” said he. “Very!” - -She kept on smiling, but it was a strained and wretched smile, and the -colour in her cheeks deepened. A ridiculous, an intolerable situation! -She couldn’t keep on in that way, twisted half round in her seat, and -smiling and smiling.... She _had_ to turn away. - -But a little later she turned back again. - -“Isn’t that florist’s window lovely?” she had said. - -“Yes, it is!” he answered. “Very!” - -He, too, wished to be nice, but couldn’t; and once she had resumed her -normal position, although then he thought of a number of things he -wished to say, he couldn’t suddenly make remarks to her back. Neither -could he touch her on the shoulder again, for he considered that would -be vulgar. So after much thought, he finally got up and standing beside -her and holding fast to the back of the seat to keep his footing on the -lurching deck, he asked her if she could tell him what building that -was? - -She did so, gladly. - -“I haven’t been in the city long,” he said, with a chivalrous desire to -give her information about himself. “I’m from Charleston.” - -“Oh, are you? Do you like it here?” - -“No,” he answered, promptly. “Not much.” - -She was a little taken aback at that, and while she was thinking of a -polite rejoinder, the young man had taken from his pocket a leather -case, and was proffering a card. - -MR. NICHOLAS LANDRY. - -“Thank you!” she murmured. - -He waited a moment, hoping perhaps for some sort of reciprocation, but -none came. So-- - -“May I sit down?” he asked. - -“Oh, yes, do!” she answered. - -A long time seemed to go by. - -“I wish--” he said, and paused. “I wish I could see you again.” - -There was a sort of self-assurance about him that somehow inspired her -with confidence in him. It had not the least trace of effrontery, nor -was there anything ingratiating about him. His air seemed to tell her -that, if she didn’t want to see him, she need only say so, and that -would be the end of it. He was quiet, courteous, but far from humble. He -was, in fact, rather lordly. And she liked it. - -“Well...” she began. “I--I’d like to--pay you back that fare....” - -“Perhaps you’d let me call?” - -He was startled at her vehemence. - -“Oh, no!” she cried. “Oh, no! You couldn’t! I’m sorry--but you -couldn’t!” - -Her face had grown crimson and her eyes were filled with tears, and she -kept her head resolutely turned aside. - -This surprised, embarrassed and a little annoyed him. Did she think he -was trying to force himself upon her? He said nothing more after that. - -But at last, as they drew near his corner, he spoke again. - -“Well!” he said, rising, with a slight sigh. “I’m sorry!” - -She turned quickly. - -“If--if you’d like ... to-morrow ... in the Fifth Avenue Library...?” - -Again he was surprised, amazed at this sudden and anxious invitation. -But he politely concealed his surprise. - -“Nothing I’d like better,” he said. “What time?” - -“About three?” - -“I’ll be there!” he assured her. “Just where?” - -“Oh ... that hall that goes down to the circulating room....” - -He stretched out his hand to ring the bell. - -“But you haven’t told me your name!” he said. - -“Oh! Rosaleen!” she said. “Rosaleen--Humbert.” - -Then once more raising his hat with a smile that enthralled her, he had -vanished down the stairs, and a moment later she had seen him going down -a side street--a lean young figure with a long stride. - - * * * * * - -“I shan’t go!” she sobbed. “Of course not! What would be the sense? I’d -just better forget all about him.” - -“It wouldn’t be fair!” she went on. “Because--if he knew ... he wouldn’t -want to see me....” - -Useless to recollect newspaper tales of dukes and chorus girls, of -millionaires and waitresses, of Cophetua and the beggar maid in all its -modern guises. All those people were different. There was no other man -like him, no other woman like her. What is more, Rosaleen had no faith -in romance. Had not her history been what _anyone_ would call romantic, -and wasn’t it as cruel and dull and cold as any life could be? - -She sat up and dried her eyes. - -“No!” she said. “No use thinking about it.... No use making a fool of -myself.” - -It had grown quite dark. She got up and lighted the flaring gas jet on a -wall bracket, and looked at the big impudent face of the alarm clock -standing on her austere bureau top. And at the same time caught sight of -her own face, stained and swollen with tears, but still lovely in its -pure young outline, with the wise innocence of those drowned grey eyes. -The type one calls “flower-like,” with the exquisite fineness of her -old, old race, the deep set eyes, the passionate and sensitive mouth, -the strange look of resignation. She was rather fair, with light brown -hair and a sweet and healthy colour; she was slender and not very tall; -she looked fragile, but she was not. She had a strength, an energy, an -endurance beyond measure. - -An endurance well known and profited by in this household. She brushed -her fine hair and pinned it up tightly and carelessly; she bathed her -eyes in cold water and tied an apron about her waist. And went along the -corridor of the dark, old-fashioned flat to the kitchen. All neat as a -pin there. Potatoes closely pared, soaking in cold water, lettuce in a -wet cloth, a jar of lard set to cool on the window sill, ready for the -inevitable frying. She set to work briskly to prepare the supper, and -when it was cooking on the stove, she set up the ironing board and began -to press a pile of napkins and handkerchiefs. And began to sing to -herself in a low and mournful voice. - -At six o’clock came the expected sound of a key in the latch, and -presently a venerable grey-bearded old gentleman put his head into the -kitchen. - -“Well! Well! Well!” he said, benevolently. “Aha! Something very savoury -there, I think, Rosaleen!” - -“I hope you’ll like it,” she said, smiling. - -“Will it be long?” - -“Not an instant. I’ll set the table now. Shall we wait for Miss Amy?” - -“I think not. I think not. Better get it over with, eh?” - -She smiled again, and putting up the ironing board, began at once to lay -the table for three. The venerable old gentleman had vanished into his -room, and was seen no more until she knocked on his door. - -“Dinner!” she said. - -He came out again very promptly, closing the door behind him, and took -his place at the head of the table. He bowed his grey head, Rosaleen -bent her sleek one, and he said a solemn grace. And then set to work to -carve the scraggy little steak. It didn’t take much to make him -grateful; their standard of living wasn’t exalted; tough meat, with -potatoes and a canned vegetable, that was the regulation; then as a -dessert either canned fruit or a pie from the baker’s. And the lettuce, -which it was considered necessary for his health that Mr. Humbert should -eat every evening. - -Rosaleen sat opposite him, still in her apron, thankful for once for his -inhuman indifference. He wouldn’t notice that she had been crying. They -didn’t talk; they never did. What could they possibly have to say to -each other? - -The light from two jets in the gasolier over the table shone clearly, -illumined every corner. All quite neat and clean, with a sort of bright -stuffiness about it; a greenish brown carpet on the floor, a couch bed -concealed by a green corduroy cover, four varnished oak chairs spaced -primly against the wall. In one corner stood a sewing machine covered -with a lace tablecloth, on which was a fern in a pot decorated with a -frill of green crêpe paper. On the mantelpiece stood a geranium -similarly ornamented, and on the table another. From the gasolier and -from the curtain pole over the doorway were suspended half coconut -shells filled with ferns. Hanging in the windows by gilt chains were two -“transparencies”; one was moonlight in Venice, all a ghastly green, and -the other was a church with lighted windows gleaming redly over the -snow: no doubt they were to compensate for the lack of any view except -that of the wall of a courtyard. Nothing in this familiar hideousness to -arrest Rosaleen’s glance; she looked restlessly about, longing for the -venerable old gentleman to have done with his coconut custard pie. - -At last (of course) he did. - -“Don’t forget to save something for Miss Amy!” he said, and disappeared -again into his cubicle. - -While Rosaleen went about her solitary work, washed the dishes, scoured -the pots, boiled the dishtowels and hung them to dry, swept the floor, -and at last could put out the gas and go away, leaving her domain in -perfect order. Nothing more to be done.... - -Then was the time when the pain, the unhappiness which she had thought -to be conquered, and lost in resignation, came back to her again, -stronger, more bitter than ever. In all her hard life there had never -been anything so hard as the renunciation of this unknown young man. - -“But I won’t go to meet him!” she said. “He’d be sure to find out. And -then it would be all the worse.... Now I’ve only seen him once, and if I -never see him again, I’ll soon forget him. Oh, much, much better not to -go!” - -“But if he liked me _very_ much, he wouldn’t care _who_ I was!” - -That thought, however, held no consolation. He _would_ care. She knew -it. She had read in every feature of his face the most obstinate and -tyrannical pride. - -“But maybe he’d never find out?” she persisted, desperately. - -And looked and looked in the mirror, with fervent anxiety. One might -have thought she expected to see her secret stamped on her brow. - - - - -CHAPTER TWO - - -I - -They thought she had forgotten, because she never mentioned anything of -that, never asked a question. But she hadn’t. No! She remembered, and at -her worst and loneliest, she longed for the old times. Besides, she had -three times heard Miss Amy relating the story when they believed her to -be asleep in bed, and each time she had heard it told, the most -immeasurable bitterness, the most devastating misery had rushed over -her. - -“Why ever was I _born_?” she used to cry to herself. - -And hadn’t she also heard Miss Amy murmur, not imagining herself -overheard, that: You can’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear! What -else can you expect from a girl like _that_? - -It had hurt and angered her so; it had left her without gratitude, -without even justice. She quite hated Miss Amy. - -Lying in her bed that night all these feelings flamed in her with -fiercest intensity, shame, bitterness, and, above all, a great and -unassuaged grief for that incomparable friend whom she had lost, for the -kind and sturdy Miss Julie, dead these five long years. - -Miss Julie had meant to do a kindness. She intended--and if she had -lived she would have succeeded in--benefiting Rosaleen. - -“I remember it as if it were yesterday,” Miss Amy had begun her -thrice-told tale, “The day that Julie brought her here....” - -Well, and didn’t Rosaleen remember it, too? Who better? - - -II - -It had begun ten years ago in the Life Class at the Girls’ Institute of -Practical Art where Miss Julie, bravely disregarding her thirty-five -years, had commenced to study. Upon the death of their very old father, -the three Humberts, brother and two sisters, had left their farm in -Maine and had come to New York to live. They were independent now, and -in a hurry to leave their old homestead, to be free from that -atmosphere, where they had passed a dreary childhood and a youth -frightfully oppressed by the old man. Crude, strong people, they were -possessed of a strange and pitiful craving for “culture.” Perhaps -because they were rather too old and too repressed for pleasure. - -Mr. Humbert had found a position in an office, fulfilling a lifelong -dream of gentility, and his great hands, worn and roughened with the -hard labour of the farm, seized eagerly upon the pen. He had made -himself into the likeness of a scholar, without learning, without -aptitude; he had covered himself with the shell of a scholar, and he -deceived himself and his sisters and all the rest of their little world. -Miss Amy had found it hardest to adapt herself. She was by nature the -perfect village gossip, the meddlesome and vindictive spinster inflicted -upon every community in all corners of this earth. She was cruel, -jealous and stupid. Left to herself she had been unable to discover in -all the city anything which really interested her. But a casual -neighbour had taken her in hand, and under her direction she developed -strangely. She became absorbed in Interior Decorating. She had not a -vestige of taste; she never dreamt of applying at home any of the -principles of which she read, but she dearly loved to see pictures and -to read about fine old furniture, about rugs, about Antiques. She used -to go to Auction Sales with great pleasure. Also, with mysterious -facility, she made a number of friends. In the stores, the markets, in -the street cars, she would drop into conversation with strangers, and -she would never let them go. She managed so that within a year’s time -she was able to go out _somewhere_ nearly every day. - -Miss Julie, as we said, began at once to study art, with rapture. No one -could imagine how she enjoyed that Life Class--a most refined and -earnest class, thoroughly feminine, and inclined to fussiness. There -were only twelve members and five of them had scholarships of which they -were doggedly determined to take advantage. They came early, so as not -to waste a minute, and they carried out every minute suggestion of the -teacher. The models were all investigated, and a good reputation was of -more avail than a fine body. Respectable women, generally a trifle -heavy, “picturesque” old men with white beards, a young man or so who -was invariably struggling to study something, and was not to be -discouraged by posing all day and amusing himself all evening. - -The class was on this particular morning assembled, all ready, sitting -before their drawing boards, and a little indignant at the delay. They -couldn’t bear to waste time. - -“Ten minutes late!” said one of them. “It’s to be a child to-day, isn’t -it, Miss Humbert?” - -Miss Julie, as monitor, was informed and answered yes. - -“I don’t care about doing children,” said the student, “I don’t think -they’re interesting. That last little boy was perfectly square.” - -Just then in came a fat, smiling woman in black, holding a little girl -by the hand. Miss Julie pointed out the dressing screen, and they -disappeared behind it. For an unreasonably long time their voices were -heard, whispering. - -It was Miss Julie who voiced the indignation of the serious class. - -“Aren’t you ready to pose yet?” she called out. “We’ve wasted over -twenty minutes.” - -“Just a moment, please ma’am!” answered the woman’s pleasant voice, and -presently she emerged, still leading the child by the hand. Reluctantly -the little thing came out from behind the screen, a thin, white body; -then suddenly she broke violently away from her mother and disappeared -again. - -“Saints deliver us!” said the woman with a sigh. “Did you ever see the -like?” - -And she went after the child, and evidently tried to drag it out, for it -began to cry, in a low, hoarse little voice. - -“No! No! I can’t! No, Mommer! I can’t!” - -“Naughty little thing!” said one of the serious students, with a frown. - -But Miss Julie had got up and gone behind the screen. - -“What’s the matter?” she demanded, with severity. - -“That child!” said the mother. “She’s that obstinate there is no -reasoning with her at all. She’s made up her mind she will not stand out -there for the young ladies to draw.” - -“Why?” demanded Miss Julie. - -“Some silly notion,” said the mother. - -Miss Julie looked down at the little girl; she had pulled her dress -round her shivering little body and was crouched against the wall, with -eyes to break your heart, full of terror and anguish. Miss Julie was -shocked. - -“What’s the matter, pet?” she asked, gently. “Aren’t you well?” - -The child couldn’t answer, only shook her head, while tears began to -roll slowly down her cheeks. Miss Julie went down on her knees beside -her, and tried to put an arm about her, but she cowered away. - -“Tell me!” she entreated. “Why don’t you want to pose, my dear?” - -With lips trembling so that she could scarcely speak, the child told -her. - -“I want ... to--get dressed.... I don’t ... want them to see me.” - -“Hasn’t she posed before?” Miss Julie asked the mother. - -“No, she has not. I’ve done the best I----” - -“Do you mean to say you’re trying to force her--when she feels as she -does--when she’s _ashamed_?” - -The stout woman did not flinch at all before Miss Julie’s stern glance. - -“It will do her no harm,” she said. “Only for these young ladies and -while she’s so young.” - -“It’s very wrong!” cried Miss Julie. “It’s--it shouldn’t be allowed.” - -“She’s engaged already. For two hours at fifty cents an hour. She needs -the money and she will have to do the work for it,” the mother remarked -grimly. “Go on with you, Rosaleen!” - -“Get dressed!” said Miss Julie to the child. “You can pose in a costume. -I’ll find something.” - -She explained as well as she could to her classmates, but received no -general sympathy. Most of them thought the child was awfully silly. - -“And she’s made us waste half our time,” said one of them. “I’m going to -complain in the office.” - -Miss Julie devised a costume which she said was a gipsy dress. She went -behind the screen again and found the little girl in underwaist and -petticoat, buttoning up her poor, scuffed little boots. - -“We’ll take those off,” she said. “You won’t mind being bare-legged.” - -She dressed the little thing while it stood there like a doll. A -beautiful child, too thin and altogether too small for its years, but -very charmingly and gracefully built; it had deep-set clear grey eyes -and a wistful small face, broad at the brow and tapering to a pointed -chin, like a kitten’s. And it had about it something which enslaved Miss -Julie, some mystic and adorable quality which she could not name, and -which no one else saw. - -She unfastened the two scrawny little “pig tails” and let her ill-kept -brown hair fall about the neck, pitifully thin, like a bird’s; then she -tied a broad scarlet ribbon about her forehead and put on a short -spangled jacket over the underwaist. She looked very unlike a gipsy, -with her meek glance and her fair skin, but she was undeniably lovely, -and the class set to work drawing her without further grumbling. She was -quiet as a lamb, quick to obey any suggestion, evidently anxious to -atone for her naughtiness. She looked pitifully tired, too. - -Miss Julie was quite determined not to let this child vanish. She -resolutely stopped the stout woman as she was leaving. - -“You won’t make her pose any more, will you?” she said, entreating. - -“I’m a poor woman,” said the mother, “and I have to do the best I can.” - -“But it’s----” - -“It’s fifty cents an hour, Miss, that’s what it is. And I need the money -that bad.” - -“I’ll find something better for her to do,” said Miss Julie, rashly. “If -you’ll give me your name and address, I’ll find something _much_ better. -Only--she mustn’t do this. It’s not right, feeling as she does.” - -“Only Saturdays and after school,” said the mother. “I do the best I can -for her, but ’tis not very much, where there are six and me a widow. She -goes regular to the Sisters’ school, and she is doing fine there. She’s -not twelve yet and----” - -“She’s very small for that age,” said Miss Julie. - -“She is small,” her mother agreed, “and childish-like for her age. But -she’s smart. Last Christmas didn’t they give her a prize--a book with -poetry in it--for elocution.” - -Miss Julie had wished to regard this mother as a brute, a fiend; she had -not enough experience or subtlety to comprehend lights and shades. -Everyone must be good or bad, and no shilly-shallying. So she regarded -this note of pride in the woman’s voice as hypocrisy. - -She watched them as they went out, the rusty widow with her profoundly -cynical red face, the fragile, shabby child clinging to her, stealing -sidelong glances at the “young ladies,” who were getting ready to go -home. She was determined to save that lovely and abused child. - -She had hurried home to “consult” her brother. Not that she had any real -regard for his opinion or any desire to know what it was; she knew, in -fact, that he probably would advise her to use her own judgment. But she -considered it decent to consult the man in the house; so she approached -him with her idea. - -“A lovely little thing,” she said. “Really beautiful--and so intelligent -looking.” - -“Yes?” said Mr. Humbert. - -“And something really refined about her.... Really, Morton, I should -like to adopt her.” - -That roused him. A child in the place! Impossible! He tried to argue, -but he couldn’t. He was never able to. He had some queer constitutional -inability for argument; a fatal lassitude would overwhelm him before he -had begun even to express his views. He always ran away, shut himself -into his own room and forced himself to forget whatever it was that he -had found unpleasant. - -“I’d have to see the woman, of course,--investigate...” he said, hoping -in this way to push the whole topic away into the distance. - -But his sister agreed with alarming promptness. - -“Of course!” she said. - -Well, then, two days later, when he came home from his office, and as -usual put his head in at the kitchen door to announce himself and to see -what was going forward, he saw sitting in two chairs side by side a -voluminous widow and a thin little girl, drinking cocoa with relish and -with elegance, little fingers crooked in the air. - -“This is Mrs. Monahan!” said Julie, briefly. - -He saw that he was expected to go in and question this stout woman with -an amused red face, and he would have preferred death. - -“I’ll leave the matter in your hands, Julie,” he said, and hastened into -his own room, positively trembling with fright. - -It wasn’t long before Julie knocked at his door. - -“We’ve come to a temporary arrangement,” she said. “I actually believe -that woman’s glad to be rid of her child.” - -Forgetting that the forlorn little child was still sitting in the -kitchen, and able to hear every word. - - -III - -Quite true that Mrs. Monahan had agreed to abandon her child almost -completely. She loved Rosaleen, but she didn’t feel it necessary to have -her with her; and anyway, hadn’t she plenty of others? To know that -Rosaleen was living in comfort somewhere in God’s world was quite -enough. _She_ hadn’t a trace of sentimentality. An excess, even very -slight, of whiskey or even of strong boiled tea, could cause Mrs. -Monahan to shed tears and to shake her head with delicious melancholy -over life and its pains, and she professed to look upon death as a -blessed release. But all this in no way affected her actions. She -resigned her lovely child to this erratic and sentimental spinster -because she saw very clearly the benefits which might be obtained. But -she would not even pretend to be grateful. - -Later in the evening she returned as she had promised, bringing with her -a bundle of Rosaleen’s effects, and she found her child sitting on a -sofa in the sitting room, holding before her face a big geography book -which Miss Julie had said contained interesting pictures, while behind -it the tears were trickling slowly down her cheeks. She rushed at her -mother like a whirlwind, and kissed her and embraced her, clinging to -her desperately. Mrs. Monahan also wept, but nevertheless went away. - -Miss Julie’s heart ached for the deserted little creature. - -“There! There!” she said. “You mustn’t cry, dear! Come! We’ll go into -your own nice, comfy little room and put your things away, and then -you’ll feel more at home.” - -She led her into a decent enough little cell, clean and orderly, and -opened the little bundle. It did not contain what, according to all -proper stories of poor little girls, it should have contained, the -traditional clothes, few in number, but neatly patched and darned, and -spotlessly clean. Mrs. Monahan had taken it for granted that a new -outfit would be bought for Rosaleen, and she hadn’t wasted her time -mending things that would certainly be discarded. She had, on the -contrary, kept all Rosaleen’s better things at home, for the other -children, so that what Miss Julie unwrapped was poor enough. - -“A bundle of rags!” she reflected, shocked. - -She didn’t quite know what to do with the child that evening. She was -very anxious to make her happy, to console and comfort her. She sat down -at the piano and played all her small repertory--marches, polkas, -mazurkas, and waltzes, all of the brilliant style. But Rosaleen was -thoroughly accustomed to piano playing; every family she knew had one -piano-playing daughter. Her mother had once had a piano, on “time -payments”; it had had to go back whence it came after three months, but -she had enjoyed experimenting on it while it lasted. - -Then Miss Julie gave her picture books to look at, things insultingly -beneath her intelligence. This good lady didn’t realise that Rosaleen -had for a long time been treated as an adult; that she sat with her -mother and her mother’s friends, listening with profound interest to -long tales of illnesses, births, deaths, of bad husbands and good ones, -of tragedies beyond the knowledge of this household. Babies scalded in -wash tubs, women maltreated by their men, girls who disappeared, -lingering illnesses in bleak poverty. So blank and desolate for her was -this first evening at the Humberts, that she was glad enough to go to -bed at nine o’clock, although her usual time was at least two hours -later. - -Miss Julie tucked her comfortably into her clean little bed, opened the -window, put out the light and kissed her good-night. - -“If you want anything, call me!” she said. “Are you quite comfortable, -and all right, pet?” - -The child answered, “Yes, ma’am!” But almost before the door had closed -upon her benefactress, she was weeping bitterly. - -Miss Julie let her sleep late the next morning, and when she finally -awakened, she was greeted by a new face, beyond words welcome to her, a -good wrinkled old Irish face. It was Mrs. Cronin, who came in to wash by -the day. - -“They’re all out!” she announced to the little girl. “You and me will be -keeping house together all the day. How will that suit ye?” - -Rosaleen said it would suit her grand; she dressed in great haste and -hurried into the kitchen, where Mrs. Cronin gave her some nice bitter -black tea which had been sitting on the stove this long while to get the -strength out of it. She likewise pilfered a little bacon fat from Miss -Amy’s carefully preserved jar, and fried an egg in it. - -And in the process muttered of Miss Amy, in uncomplimentary vein. - -“Her, with the long nose of her poking into every bit and bite a poor -old woman would be eating.... Never a drop of milk does she leave for -me, nor meat to taste on the tip of your tongue.... Well, now, then, how -do you like all of this, and the fine new home, and all?” - -“I do not like it,” said Rosaleen. “I wish....” She choked back a sob. -“I wish I was home again.” - -“Whist! Ye have no sinse at all!” cried Mrs. Cronin, secretly delighted. -“Did ye not sleep in a fine bed last night?” - -“The wind did be blowing on me!” she said. “For the window was left -open.” - -“’Tis one of their notions,” said Mrs. Cronin, scornfully. “They pay for -coal to keep up a fire the night long and then lave the windows wide.” - -Rosaleen then told her that she wasn’t used to sleeping in a room alone -or in the dark. - -“There’s a street light shines in our window the night through,” she -said, “and there’s the lot of us, my mother and my sister and the baby -and myself. ’Tis more sociable like.” - -They talked with gusto for hours. They were equals, in spite of the fact -that Mrs. Cronin was sixty and Rosaleen eleven. Mrs. Cronin told a -deeply interesting story of her sister’s boy who had been sent to a -Protectory, for no proper reason at all; a case of flagrant injustice -which Rosaleen understood perfectly, one of her own brothers having been -threatened. Rosaleen was not downcast now, or tongue tied; she, too, had -stories to tell. Modest and gentle she was, as ever, but a citizen of -the world, with experience, albeit vicarious. - - -IV - -It had gone on for five years, a life of boredom, of loneliness, -mitigated only by the unfailing kindness of Miss Julie. A flat, insipid -existence. She found the Humberts’ conversation unfailingly dull, their -routine almost intolerably stupid. She longed beyond measure for the -comfort and freedom of her old home. - -All this had astounded Miss Julie. She was never able really to see how -impossible was her task, never realised that she could not mould this -fragile and wistful child into a Humbert. Or reach her. Material -pleasures made no appeal to that simple soul; she cared next to nothing -for good food, good clothes, a soft bed. She was always docile, -thoroughly a good child, ready, obedient, sweet-tempered. She didn’t -give the least trouble, and never asked for anything. But she -nevertheless disappointed Miss Julie. She didn’t seem to change as she -should have changed. Their cultured atmosphere didn’t transform her. She -sat at their table night after night, meek and clean, with downcast -eyes, never speaking unless spoken to, always and forever the poor -widow’s child in the stranger’s house. - -Miss Julie did her best. She sent her to school; she gave her kind and -tactful information about baths and toothbrushes; she saw that she was -well fed and nicely dressed. She took her to the circus every spring, -and now and then to an entertainment considered suitable. Also she -taught her to play a few babyish pieces on the piano, and, what most -pleased the little girl, she had begun to teach her to draw. When all -those activities were cut short by her death. - -Even now, after five years, Rosaleen couldn’t bear to look back upon -that. She had been desperate with grief, a little mad thing. She had -been brought in to look for the last time at her friend, she had seen -her lying there, much the same as usual, a stout, sallow woman with -blunt, good-humoured features. And for the first time that face did not -smile at her, that voice did not speak to console and to reassure her. - -Miss Amy had no comfort to give. She had never liked the child. She -consented now to keep her, because “dear Julie would have wished it,” -but she kept her as a servant, an unpaid servant, with “privileges.” She -sat at the table with them, she was still nicely dressed, she was given -a little--a very little--pocket money. And she was permitted to go every -Sunday afternoon to see her mother. Miss Amy had no inclination for -continuing Miss Julie’s battle. She did not wish to improve Rosaleen. -Miss Julie had tried with all her tact, all her ability, to divorce the -child from her family, but Miss Amy encouraged intercourse. It helped to -keep Rosaleen in her place. - - - - -CHAPTER THREE - - -I - -Those days were gone now. There were no more of those Sunday afternoons -in her mother’s kitchen. A sister had married well, and the whole family -had migrated to Boston, where the unwilling and resentful son-in-law -could “keep an eye” on them. Rosaleen had written two or three times to -her mother, but had never had an answer. And with her sorrowful -resignation, had given her up as lost. - -But whenever a dark hour came, her memory flew back to that spot, -recalled to her that time spent in the dreadful dirty old kitchen with -her mother, a little bit intoxicated, seated before the table covered -with oilcloth, and usually a neighbor or two, widow women, or married as -it might be, all drinking tea and complaining. There was always a baby -sister or brother crawling about the floor, and a cat; it was always -warm, steamy, indescribably friendly. The depth of it, the vitality, the -kind, consoling human flavour of it, of those slovenly women who were -forever bearing children, whose talk was of life and death, of pain, -sorrow and earthly joys! Compared with it, the hurried artificial -conversation of Miss Amy and Mr. Humbert was like the talk of -shadows.... - -She was thinking and thinking of it that night. - -“All right!” she said, bitterly. “I won’t deny it! I’m common! I’m not -happy here. I don’t belong here. I don’t appreciate it. I hate it! I -wouldn’t be like Miss Amy for anything.... Of course _he’d_ soon see -that. He’d find out that I’m--common....” - -But she couldn’t bear the thought. She sat up in bed. - -“Oh, but I haven’t had a chance!” she cried. “I’ve _never_ had a chance! -Oh!... If I could just see him alone, I could show him that I’m....” - -She could not explain to herself just what she knew herself to be, just -what it was that she wished this young man to know. It was that pitiful -secret thought of all human beings, whether a fallacy or a profound -truth can never be demonstrated--the thought that if you know me, you -will love me, that if you hold a poor opinion of me, it is because you -misunderstand me. - -Perhaps after all she would go, just this once, just see him, and trust -to his comprehension.... - -She waked up the next morning, still undecided, her heart as heavy as -lead. She dressed in the dismal twilight of her little cell, weighing -and deliberating, hesitating miserably. At last it resolved itself into -this bald alternative--which way would cause her the least pain--not to -meet him, to lose him forever now, at the very beginning, to destroy -this promise of the first interest any man had yet shown in her--or to -let it go on, to let her starved and ardent affection rush out to him, -to become fatally entangled in the web of her own making, only to have -him find her out and despise her? - -She went into the kitchen to get ready the breakfast, and in there, a -back room looking out over little yards, the sun was beginning to enter. -She could see a soft blue morning sky, with shadowy white clouds blown -across it by a mild and steady wind. It cheered her marvellously. She -was as easily made happy as she was easily hurt. - -She started to grind the coffee, in itself a cheerful morning noise. - -“Oh, nonsense!” she said to herself. “I’m making a mountain out of a -molehill. Of course I’ll go and meet him. Why shouldn’t I? It’s just a -lark. It won’t lead to anything, if I don’t want it to. There’s no need -for me to be so serious about it. I’m _going_!” - -She was well used to keeping her own counsel. She looked and she acted -just the same as usual; when Miss Amy appeared she found breakfast on -the table, as it should be, and Rosaleen occupying a few spare moments -in dusting. - -“Good morning, Miss Amy!” she said, in her gentle, her almost meek -little voice. - -Miss Amy answered curtly, and looked into the kitchen to see if all was -in order. She was a stout grey haired woman with a face as dark as a -gypsy’s and a long, sharp--an almost wolfish, nose. She had a perpetual -smile, a smile which she had schooled her lips to assume, in her -terrible efforts to subdue her own fierce nature. She was a woman of -natural ferocity and violence, but controlled and dominated by a -passionate desire to be good. So well did she rule herself that she very -rarely spoke a sharp word, and though she had a deep-rooted and -unshakable dislike for Rosaleen, she treated her with generosity. She -made her work; that, she considered, was good for her, and in every way -fitting and proper. But she likewise considered that she and her brother -were morally responsible for this girl, and she paid out of her own -pocket for Art Lessons, for an occasional Shakespearian matinée and -other items of cultural importance. - -Anyone who has experienced it will admit how immeasurably painful is the -combination of hostility and gratitude. Rosaleen was obliged by her own -heart to dislike Miss Amy, and by her soul to recognise her -benefactions. They were in all things opposed and hostile. Rosaleen was -a fool possessed of common sense and Miss Amy was a practical woman -without any. - -Rosaleen brought in Miss Amy’s little dish of prunes. - -“Anything I can do for you downtown to-day, Miss Amy?” she asked. - -“Oh, yes, of course! It’s your lesson day. No, thank you, Rosaleen, -there is nothing.” - -Mr. Humbert now appeared to be fed. He ate, pretending to be absent -minded so that no one should bother him about anything, and went away to -his office. Then Miss Amy began leisurely to get herself ready to go to -market, while Rosaleen washed the dishes and made the beds. - -“You’d better hurry!” she said. “You’ll be late, Rosaleen!” - -But Rosaleen was only waiting for her to be gone, so that she could put -on her best blouse and her white gloves. - - -II - -Miss Julie had always encouraged Rosaleen’s fondness for drawing. In -fact, it may have been the drawing lessons she had given the little -girl and her fervent talk of “art” which had given Rosaleen the idea of -becoming an artist. But, whether the ambition was implanted by nature or -by Miss Julie, the ability was born with her. She had an undoubted -facility. In the long hours she had spent alone in the flat, she had -comforted herself with her little talent, copying the covers of -magazines and inventing romances around the imbecile beauties. And as -time went on, and her companions at school admired her work, her pride -and her hope increased. She saw in this career as an artist a chance of -escape, for freedom. - -When she was graduated from the High School, at eighteen, she said that -she should like to study art seriously. Miss Amy had agreed at once, and -Rosaleen had then showed her an advertisement in the Sunday paper which -she had noticed for some weeks. - -EUROPEAN ART TEACHER would accept one or two more young lady pupils. -Very moderate terms. Address F. W. - -They had addressed F. W., and in the due course of time received a -letter signed “Faith Waters,” inviting them to call the next afternoon -at four. They had discovered the European Art Teacher living in a dark, -old-fashioned flat on Tenth Street, with one light room at the back -which she had made into a studio by filling it with plaster casts on -crooked shelves put up by her own hands. The teacher herself was a -withered little woman in a crushed and dusty brown dress, with a black -velvet bow in her cottony white hair, and she had the cultured voice of -one who has been to Europe. - -Rosaleen looked about at the photographs on the walls of various persons -in stage costume, signed _A ma chère Miss--Bien à vous_--and so on. She -supposed that these were artistic foreign friends of Miss Waters’, never -suspecting that they were nothing more nor less than second rate stage -people to whom she had taught English. - -“I suppose you’ve lived abroad a long time?” said Miss Amy. - -“Oh, dear me, yes!” said Miss Waters. “I studied in Brussels for -_years_!” - -She didn’t explain that this had been thirty years ago, and in a cheap -_pension de demoiselles_, and that she had never seen the inside of a -foreign art school, or studied under any master except the miserable old -man who had taught drawing as an extra to the demoiselles. - -“I’ll show you some of my work,” she had said. “I haven’t a proper place -to hang them here. The light is so bad you’ll hardly be able to -judge.... But still....” - -She led the way to the dining-room, where her canvases hung in -profusion. She specialised in animal life, kittens, puppies, -and--timidly--horses. The horses were supernaturally stalwart and -spirited, with tremendous chests and heads flung back splendidly, but -Miss Waters was conscious of many weak points in them, grave -deficiencies. She knew that sweet little kittens were more in her line. -Horses were, after all, rather grossly big animals, and she did them -only as an exercise in virtuosity. - -Rosaleen and Miss Amy had been a trifle disappointed in Miss Waters’ -work. They both had a feeling that animals were not truly artistic. -Flowers, landscapes, women and children, were what they had expected and -desired. Still, a group of six puppies in a row, astoundingly alike and -yet each one in a different attitude, compelled their admiration. - -“Of course,” said Miss Waters, “_this_ is my real work. The teaching is -only a side line. But I do _love_ teaching. It is such a wonderful -privilege to help in developing a talent. Some of my pupils are among -the foremost artists in the country.” - -She needn’t have gone on so recklessly, because her visitors were -already in quite the frame of mind she desired. That, however, she -couldn’t know. - -“Portrait painters, landscape painters, painters of historical and -religious subjects.... I’ve taught them all. And I’ve been--well,” she -confessed, with a modest smile. “I’ve been very fortunate, I must say. -My pupils are among the most celebrated artists in this country. Not -always the best _known_,” she hastened to add. “Their _names_ might not -be familiar to you.... But they _rank_ very high.” - -All superfluous. For Rosaleen and Miss Amy the fact of her being an -artist sufficed. They took it for granted that any artist knew all about -art, just as they would have expected any blacksmith to understand all -about horseshoeing. Then and there Rosaleen was put into her hands to be -developed. - -And she had been going faithfully, three days a week, for nearly two -years, progressing steadily under the system which Miss Waters had found -successful with her pupils in the past. A great deal of drawing in -charcoal from casts at first, then watercolours, and then oils. When you -began to work with oils, the drudgery was over; accuracy was no longer -required, or outlines. The system also included what Miss Waters called -“just a bit of the History of Art,” short talks and readings, which -contained not a vestige of information about art and some very -remarkable history. It was in fact nothing more than a collection of -anecdotes about artists. Generally there was a king, who visited the -artist in disguise, or came up behind him on tiptoe, and who was struck -dumb by the verisimilitude of the painting before him. That was indeed -the measure of an artist’s greatness--that a horse tried to eat his -painted hay, a bird his fruit, that a man tried to sit upon his picture -of a chair, or to smell his flowers. A picture was a picture. - -Rosaleen had progressed beyond casts now, and was devoting herself to -watercolours. She was learning the Rules of Perspective, and her -suspicion was becoming confirmed, that Art was a sort of professional -mystery to be learned as one learned law or medicine. She began to feel -that she was getting a grasp of the thing. - -She was an altogether satisfactory pupil and Miss Waters was proud of -her; she was bright, docile, and very industrious. - -But what was the matter with her on _this_ morning? - -She sat before her patient little drawing of a ruined castle on a -hilltop, unable to draw a line, making a weak little scratch now and -then, and rubbing it out as soon as it had appeared. - -“What _is_ the trouble, Rosaleen?” asked Miss Waters. “Don’t you feel -well?” - -“Oh, yes, thank you, Miss Waters! I feel well. Only ... I don’t know -how it is ... but--I don’t feel like drawing a bit to-day.” - -“I know, my dear child!” said Miss Waters. “I’m the same way myself. -It’s the beautiful autumn weather. It’s hard to concentrate on work. It -puts me in mind of my student days, in Brussels.” - -She sighed. Those long years, in Paris and Brussels, trotting about from -one English family to another, teaching drawing, from one jolly -demi-mondaine to another, teaching English; the bare little rooms she -had shivered in, the dismal _pensions_, the dreadful straits in which -she had so often found herself, poor solitary muddle-headed little -foreigner! And yet she had loved it, that illusion of an artistic life; -friendless and poor as she was, she had had her pleasures, had dined at -the little restaurants where she could at least _see_ artists, had spent -hours and days in the picture galleries, had felt gay and adventurous -and irresponsible. - -“I’ll tell you what, Rosaleen!” she cried suddenly. “Suppose we both go -out and take a turn round the square? It might do us both good--freshen -our brains!” - -Rosaleen looked at the clock. Half past two; her lesson didn’t end till -three, and she had allowed herself half an hour to get up to the -Library. She couldn’t think what to say. - -Miss Waters believed that she hesitated because she didn’t want to waste -any of her lesson time. - -“We’ll go out, just for a ‘blow’,” she said. “And then you can come back -and work extra late, and we’ll have tea together. I haven’t any pupils -this afternoon.” - -“But--I have to stop at the Library and get a book for Miss Amy,” said -Rosaleen. “And--I promised to take it home early.” - -Miss Waters looked a trifle disappointed. - -“Well, then,” she said. “Go ahead working until your time’s up, and then -I’ll walk up to the Library with you.” - -Aghast, horrified, Rosaleen pretended to draw, thinking desperately of -some means of getting rid of Miss Waters. While all the time she could -hear Miss Waters getting ready, scrabbling about in her bedroom, -dropping things, and hunting for other things in bureau drawers. -Presently she came out, and in spite of the mild October day, she was -wearing her dreadful old sealskin coat with the high, puffed shoulders -that made her look so huddled, and perched high on her cottony hair, the -small fur hat that always blew off. It was always an infliction for -Rosaleen to walk with this poor old scarecrow, and on this day it was -nothing short of torture. - -Sedately, arm in arm, they walked along Tenth Street and turned up -Fifth Avenue, Miss Waters leaning heavily upon Rosaleen and chattering -with youthful exuberance, roguishly aware of the glances that followed -her. And her hat did blow off, and bowled along ahead of them, like a -dusty, terrified little animal, until a man stopped it with his foot and -with disdain and in silence returned it to the dishevelled artist. She -thanked him, giggling, gathering her cottony hair in both hands to stuff -it back under the hat. - -“I thought I had a pin in it,” she explained. - -After this, she looked wilder than ever, and the rough October wind -swirling about her skirts revealed a hole in each of her stockings. And -presently she gave a dismayed shriek, and clutched her sealskin coat -about her. - -“Oh!” she cried. “The button’s just come off!” - -“What button?” asked Rosaleen. - -“The button on my coat. Have you a pin, my dear?” - -“I’m sorry, but I haven’t. Does it matter much?” - -“Of course! How can I keep my coat together?” Miss Waters demanded, -plaintively. - -“But--you must have more than _one_ button!” - -“No, I really didn’t bother about sewing on the others.... _Oh!_ ... My -_hat_!” - -And as she grasped after the hat with both hands the coat flew wide -open, to reveal its tattered rose coloured lining, hanging in shreds, -and the crushed and dusty old dress. - -“Hadn’t we better go back?” said Rosaleen. “And I’ll come in and sew -your coat for you.” - -Anything would be better than to meet _him_ with this companion; better -to lose him forever. - -“Oh, no, thank you, my dear. As long as I’ve gone this far, I’ll go the -rest of the way. I’ll fix it in the library.” - -So there was no escape possible. Arm in arm with Miss Waters she must -ascend the imposing flight of steps, enter the library, and advance -along the lofty corridors. - -She saw him! Sitting on a bench, reading a magazine with a sort of -severe preoccupation. But Rosaleen knew that he had seen them and was -only pretending he hadn’t. They drew nearer and nearer. She was thinking -frantically. Should she speak to him _anyway_, or was he annoyed at her -for coming with Miss Waters? Or was he simply being tactful, desiring to -avoid embarrassing her with his unsanctioned presence? She couldn’t -decide. They drew nearer and nearer ... they were abreast of him.... She -threw him one anguished glance, but he did not look up from his -magazine.... They passed him, and went into the circulating room. - -This was too awful! - -“Would you just please ask if they have ‘Some Colonial Chairs’?” she -cried hastily to Miss Waters. “I think I see someone I know....” - -And rushed out. But he was no longer sitting on the bench. She caught a -glimpse of him, vanishing round the corner. - -She went back to Miss Waters, and had to carry home a huge, heavy volume -which she remembered Miss Amy having had from the library some years -ago. - -She got into the bus with it, waved a cheerful good-bye to Miss Waters, -and went off home. - - - - -CHAPTER FOUR - -I - - -She was lost in an apathy of despair. He had come and he had gone, this -lover for whom she had been waiting for years. In all her solitude, her -restlessness, her great discontent, that had been her great hope; any -day she might meet him, any day it might happen, and her life would -really begin at last. - -And now it was over; he was gone, and there was nothing further to -expect. She let herself into the flat--her home--her prison--her grave. - -There was a great bolt of white stuff lying folded on the sewing machine -to be made up into respectable and sturdy underclothing for Miss Amy. -After she had taken off her hat and jacket and washed her hands, she sat -down before this work, which she usually attacked with such earnestness, -such professional interest. But her heart failed; she let the scissors -drop idly in her lap; to-day she could not work, to-day she didn’t care. -Her sombre eyes stared straight before her, at the transparency of -moonlit Venice. - -“Oh!... If I’d been alone, we’d have taken a walk together ... I’d have -had a chance to be--attractive.... Now, of course, I’ll never see him -again. How can I? I don’t know where he lives.... He’ll never bother -with me any more. Why should he? Of course, he knows lots and lots of -beautiful society girls....” - -She sat there, thinking of the charming women he must see every day, and -who must of course all love him. She was sure that he knew dozens of -girls prettier, more accomplished, a hundred times more fascinating than -herself. And yet felt sure that if she had a proper chance, she could -win him, felt that there was some peculiar quality in her which was in -no other living woman. - -The afternoon dragged by in a weary and painful waking dream. She -hurried through the preparations for dinner, resentful of anything that -distracted her long reveries. Nothing else held the slightest interest -for her. If she _could_ get him back? If she would ever see him again? -If the beneficent Fate which had brought him to her would still direct -the thing, would help her once again? - -They sat at the table, they talked, their usual constrained and formal -talk. Then Miss Amy went out and her brother returned to his room and -his great work--his romance of the time of Nero. - -Rosaleen really admired it, without any particular interest in it. And -she felt a very feminine satisfaction that the man in the house had -found for himself an occupation which kept him quiet, and out of the -way. Every evening for years he had shut himself into his room directly -after dinner, to write. He had begun this romance when he had first come -to the city, but he did not progress rapidly, for he had often to -interrupt its course while he studied. His studying consisted in reading -“Quo Vadis” and “Ben Hur” and dozens and dozens of other novels of the -same sort, and making diagrams of their plots, according to a scheme he -had adopted from his well-read manual--“The Road to Authorship.” On -large sheets of paper he drew a wavering curve upward to the Climax, -then down, then perhaps up again two or three times, for all the little -anti-climaxes. Each character had its own wavering line, leading up and -down, crossing or running parallel to the “main theme.” In a big -exercise book he kept an index of the characters he had most admired in -all these novels, with little sketches of their histories, traits, etc. - -He now felt altogether familiar with that epoch. He knew just the proper -set of characters for the scene, a Christian slave girl, a gigantic, -faithful and muscular porter, a humourous pariah, and so on, and all -the unfortunate crew of pious and humble folk predestined from the first -chapter for martyrdom. A romantic work, for Mr. Humbert was romantic, in -a masculine way, you must know, about facts, not about people. - -He enjoyed this literary work with immeasurable relish. It completely -distracted his mind from his business, from his home, from Life. He -didn’t care much for Life. It was too rough, too complicated, too large. -He was glad also to forget about his sister, whom he dreaded, and -Rosaleen, who worried him by her helplessness. She was a good, kind -girl, but he hadn’t much of an opinion of her. Uninteresting.... Her -only hope lay in marrying a decent, respectable man who would look after -her, and her chance of finding and securing such a man seemed to Mr. -Humbert very remote. - -He heard her stirring about in the kitchen, alone in there, washing the -dinner things. He shook his venerable head. - -“Poor Rosaleen!” he said, with a sigh. - - -II - -Rosaleen had, in her long exile, cultivated a demeanour, an expression -which was quite unfathomable by her housemates. She had a sort of meek -and lowly grace, so much the air of the grateful child rescued from -poverty, that it never occurred to them to regard her as anything but -this regulation type. Miss Amy had seen others of the same sort in the -course of her charitable labours. Of course, Rosaleen was grateful, or, -as Miss Amy preferred to put it, appreciative; how could she logically -be anything else? Miss Amy was not aware that in Rosaleen there was no -logic, no reason, and it must be admitted, very little justice. She was -completely composed of feeling. She had a perpetual resentment against -the Humberts which no sense of obligation could assuage. She -passionately preferred her frequently intoxicated and always avaricious -mother; although Miss Amy was undeniably a good woman and her mother was -no more and no less than a human being. Self-interest was absolutely -lacking in Rosaleen. She cared not a whit what you did for her, or could -do for her. She had an inexhaustible fund of devotion, of intense and -absurd affection, but it was not to be bought, it was not even to be -won. She had pity, mercy, compassion beyond measure, but it went only by -favour. - -And she had a limitless fortitude. She was not a fighter; she was not -one to struggle for what she desired; her strength was in her terrible -resignation, her fatalistic endurance. She would weep--she was weeping -now--for this probable lover whom she had lost, but there was no -rebellion in her grief. From her very early days she had learned to look -upon life as a sad and ironic affair, from which one could expect -little. - -“Ah, that’s the way of the world!” her mother would say, but always of -some disaster. - -And it was no doubt the way of the world that this had happened. - - -III - -When Friday came she didn’t go to Miss Waters’. She had not intended to -tell Miss Amy she wasn’t going, but to her dismay Miss Amy suddenly -returned at noon, and found her playing on the piano, one of the babyish -pieces of her small repertory, taught her by Miss Julie: “The Brownies’ -Ball.” Small consolation in that sprightly little tune for a suffering -heart, but it was all the music she could make, and she needed music. - -“What are you doing at home?” asked Miss Amy. “Isn’t it your day for -going to Miss Waters’?” - -“I don’t feel well,” said Rosaleen. “I have a headache.” - -“Then you’d better lie down, instead of sitting drumming on the piano.” - -“I feel better when I’m sitting up, Miss Amy.” - -“I dare say you’re bilious. Put on your things and go take a good brisk -walk.” - -“I don’t feel a bit like taking a walk!” Rosaleen protested, but in -vain. - -“All the more reason for going!” said Miss Amy. “That sluggishness is a -symptom. Run along now!” - -She stood by grimly while the miserable and reluctant girl got ready and -went out. Then she went into the kitchen for a glass of water, and she -saw hanging up on a rack one of her blouses, beautifully laundered that -morning by the child who said she had a headache. It hung before her, -soft, lustrous, every little gather in place, the collar so crisp and -smooth, the embroidery standing out in fine relief. It looked like.... -Did it look like a reproach? - - -IV - -Saturday followed, a busy day, devoted to house-cleaning. Rosaleen swept -and dusted and cleaned, took down curtains, beat rugs and sofa cushions, -and baked a cake, all according to custom. And Sunday, too, passed as it -always did. They all went to church in the morning, and spent the -afternoon in dignified drowsiness. Even Rosaleen was affected; she sat -in the front room with them, reading a book, but near the window, so -that from time to time, when there was an interesting sound of -footsteps or voices, she could look out into the street. So many couples -going by, arm in arm.... - -On Monday she was quite ready to go to Miss Waters’ again. Art had lost -its charm, to be sure, but it was something after all. Very little -compared to Love, but a great deal when compared to solitary -confinement. - -She went into the studio and sat down before her still unfinished -landscape, opened her paint box, and tried to begin her work. - -“Is that you, Rosaleen?” called a cheerful voice from the bedroom. - -“Yes, Miss Waters.” - -“You naughty girl!” - -“I know it.... I’m sorry I didn’t come down on Friday. But....” - -“My dear! I was young once myself! I don’t blame you, not the least bit -in the world. I don’t blame you for forgetting all about work! He’s -_per_fectly charming!” - -“_Who!_” cried Rosaleen. - -“Oh, I know all about it!” said Miss Waters archly. “That nice young man -of yours. You know that day we went to the library together? Well.... He -came tearing after me as I was walking down Fifth Avenue, and he asked -me if you’d gone home.... The most beautiful manners, my dear!... A -real Southern gentleman!... He was so disappointed when he found you’d -gone. He said he’d seen us go _in_, and he was waiting for us to come -_out_. And he walked all the way down here with me, talking about you -all the time. And I said why didn’t he go to call on you? And he said he -would--that very evening.” - -“_Oh!... Miss Waters!_” - -The desperation in her voice startled the European Art Teacher. She came -out of her bedroom, still fastening the crooked little “vestee” of her -brown dress. - -“Did you miss him?” she asked, anxiously. - -“He never came!” - -“That’s queer! He said he would.... He sat down and talked--the longest -time.... No one could have been nicer.... He asked all sorts of -questions about you.” - -“Well, what did you _tell_ him?” cried Rosaleen. “He never came!” - -Miss Waters sat down and thought, with a deep frown. - -“My dear, it couldn’t have been anything I said. Not possibly. I didn’t -speak of you except as an artist. I said how talented you were. And what -a lovely disposition you had. Nothing else at all.” - -No one could have better appreciated the situation than Miss Waters, no -one could have better understood the need for the most extreme care and -caution in dealing with men. The poor defrauded creature was convinced -that at least three of the sentimental “disappointments” of her past had -come from trifling mistakes she had made, minute errors of judgment -which had frightened away the elusive and fastidious male. Her eyes -filled with tears. - -“My dear!” she said. “I hope there’s no misunderstanding! So many young -people have had their lives absolutely wrecked and ruined by -misunderstandings.” - -Rosaleen shook her head. - -“No,” she said. “There isn’t any misunderstanding. There couldn’t be.... -But I don’t understand it.” - -She picked up her brushes and began to paint, and Miss Waters, to keep -her company, sat down before her easel, to put the finishing touches to -a copy she was making of one of her earlier works--“The School,” she had -called it, five puppies and five kittens, some in dunces’ caps, some -wearing spectacles. She was aware that she could no longer conceive and -execute such paintings now, she had to be satisfied with imitations of -her past virtuosity. - -Absorbed in their dismal reflections, they scarcely noticed the flight -of time. Miss Waters looked up startled when the clock struck one. - -“_One o’clock!_” she observed. “I never imagined! Rosaleen, you must -stay and have lunch with me!” - -Rosaleen had nothing on earth to go home for, so she agreed, and the -hospitable Miss Waters rushed out to the French delicatessen nearby, -where she could buy curious and economical things. - -And whom should she see on the corner but that young man, standing there -patiently! She came up behind him, cautiously as a hunter stalking a -deer, and touched him on the arm. - -“Well!” she cried, in pretended surprise. “Mr. Landry!” - -She knew that he was waiting for Rosaleen, but she knew also that he -wouldn’t like her to know that. Oh, she did understand something of men! -She knew that his pride must be saved at any cost. So, when she saw a -bus drawing near, she pretended to believe that he was about to get into -it, and entreated him not to. - -“Oh, don’t get in!” she cried. “I wish you’d just stop in at my studio -and have a little lunch with Rosaleen and me. You’re not in too much of -a hurry, are you?” - -He smiled down at the dishevelled and anxious creature with streaming -white hair--like a witch, he thought. He was pleased that she thought -he had been waiting for the bus, and he was very glad that neither she -nor anyone else knew that he had waited there on that corner on Friday -as well, remembering what he had been told were the days and hours of -Rosaleen’s lessons. And he was delighted that he could see Rosaleen and -pretend that it was accidental. He was surprised and a little ashamed at -his own longing to see her, by this feeling which he could not deny or -resist, for a girl of whom he knew nothing. - -“I’d be very pleased,” he said. And turned and walked down the street, -with Miss Waters hanging on his arm, both pockets of her famous fur coat -bulging with delicatessen. - -“How is your work coming on?” he asked Miss Waters. “‘The School?’ The -one you showed me?” - -“Oh!” she cried, archly, delighted at his remembering. “The idea! I -haven’t done much more on it since then. However, I’ll show you.” - -She led him down the hall, and at the door of her flat turned, with a -finger at her lips. - -“Surprise her!” she whispered. - -Landry followed her to the studio and stood obediently quiet on the -threshold, to contemplate his unconscious Rosaleen. And became lost, -absorbed in looking at her. - -She seemed so much younger, like a school girl, in her sailor blouse, -with her fair, untidy hair and her serious preoccupation with her work. -How dear she was! How innocent and fine and lovely! - -“Rosaleen!” called Miss Waters, in a voice trembling with excitement. - -Rosaleen glanced up, to meet the serious and unsmiling regard of her -hero. - -They were both confused, embarrassed, almost alarmed; their eyes met in -a glance singularly bold and significant, belying their formal smiles, -their casual words. - -“I missed you the other day,” said Landry. - -“I know ... I was sorry ... I had to hurry home....” - -He crossed the room and stood beside her, looking down at her drawing. - -“It’s very pretty,” he said, with constraint. “What is it for?” - -“Oh!... Just a picture!” - -Miss Waters had been watching them like a stage director. - -“Sit down, Mr. Landry!” she said. - -“I don’t like to interrupt Miss Humbert’s work....” - -“Nonsense! She’s a very good pupil, you know, and she can afford to take -a little holiday, now and then. And you’re going to stay and have a -little lunch with us, aren’t you?” - -He yielded, because he hadn’t the heart to do as he wished--to ask -Rosaleen out to lunch and leave the poor old creature behind. - -“I’ll have something nice and tasty ready in a jiffy!” she cried. -“Rosaleen, you entertain Mr. Landry!” - -They were left alone, Landry standing beside Rosaleen, both of them -speechless. He looked stealthily down at her, at her light hair, at the -soft colour in her cheeks, at her pretty childish throat rising from the -open neck of her sailor blouse. And he bent down and kissed her cheek. - -She didn’t look up; she bent lower over her work. - -“Rosaleen!” he said. “You darling!” - -“I’m awfully glad to see you!” she murmured. “I thought....” - -“What did you think?” - -“I thought--perhaps I shouldn’t ever see you again.” - -“I had to come,” he said, truthfully, “I couldn’t help it.” - -And fell silent, startled by his own words, by his own course of -conduct, so altogether different from what he had planned. He had -particularly wished to avoid seeing Rosaleen alone. He had certainly -not expected to kiss her, or to want to kiss her. He walked across the -room and pretended to be looking at Miss Waters’ picture. He was ashamed -of himself; he had no business to kiss her; it was dishonourable and -unkind. He stole a glance at her, and saw her, still bending over her -work, but with flaming cheeks and a hand that trembled. He couldn’t bear -that! He strode over to her. - -“I’m sorry!” he cried. - -Of course she didn’t answer; he didn’t expect her to. - -“Please let me come to see you!” he went on. “I want to know you -better.... I’ll tell you all about myself....” - -“Oh, no!” she cried. “I can’t! Really I can’t! I can’t have anyone! I’m -sorry, but--I can’t!” - -“But--can’t I see you again, then? Don’t you--won’t you let me...?” - -“Yes, I do want to see you,” she answered candidly. “Only--not at home. -Can’t we meet somewhere?” - -“But don’t you see?” he said with an earnest scowl. “It--it isn’t the -thing. If you’ll let me come to your house, and--more or less explain -myself, it makes everything quite different. If I could see your -parents....” - -“I--they aren’t my parents. It’s--an uncle.... But--what could I tell -them, anyway? If I said I’d met you like that, on the bus----” - -“I quite understand that. But you could say that you’d met me here at -Miss Waters’. You have, you know. It would be true.” - -“No!” she protested, with such vehemence that he was startled. “I can’t -let you come. I’ll meet you somewhere----” - -“Look here!” he said, severely. “You can’t--it’s not the thing for a -girl like you to be meeting a man on street corners, like a servant -girl.” - -Her face grew scarlet. - -“Very well!” she cried. “You needn’t see me at all then!” - -He retreated instantly before her wrath. - -“All right!” he said, hastily. “I _will_ meet you--anywhere you like.” - -“Oh, no you won’t!... I’m not going to....” A sudden loud sob -interrupted her. “ ... not--like--a servant girl....” - -He was horrified at the sight of tears in her eyes. - -“I didn’t mean that!” he cried. “Please don’t! Please don’t! I think -you--you’re perfect!” - -And before he knew it, his arm was about her shoulder, and her head -pressed against his chest, a clumsy, a boyish embrace. - -“Don’t cry, darling!” he entreated. - -She remained motionless. And with a respectful hand he touched her hair. - -“Please meet me!” he said. - -“In the library--on Wednesday--at four.” - -She didn’t ask; she commanded. And he submitted. - - -V - -Miss Waters entered with the lunch on a tray, and young Landry sprang to -assist her. He was, Rosaleen observed, remarkably nice and tactful with -Miss Waters. He ate what she had provided and praised it. Afterward she -brought out a white china flower pot half filled with moist, bent -cigarettes, and offered him one; took one herself, too, though it caused -her to cough horribly and would very likely make her sick. However, it -gave a European touch. She was enchanted with the atmosphere, to find -herself nonchalantly smoking cigarettes in a studio in the company of a -young and attractive man. - -She had a rhapsody of praise for him after he had gone, and Rosaleen -listened to it with delight. Then she too went home. She was proud, -triumphant, exultant. But it was a most perilous joy; she dared not -examine it. Those words haunted her. She mustn’t meet him on street -corners--like a servant girl. - -She was dusting the top of Mr. Humbert’s desk. - -“What else am I?” she asked herself, with terrible bitterness. “They -talk about my ‘advantages,’ and my being a ‘member of the household’.... -But what am I really?” - -She flung down the cloth. - -“Oh, what’s the use!” she cried. “It might just as well end now, better -end now--than after he finds out.” - - - - -CHAPTER FIVE - -I - - -Rosaleen’s great mistake lay in not telling him _then_. Because at this -time he wouldn’t have cared. At this moment she was still a romantic and -thrilling figure, not yet quite flesh and blood, still without flaw or -fault. Her pitiful history would only have enslaved him more completely. -And as he grew to know her better, he would have known her with this -fact, this history in his mind. Whereas, on the contrary, he was -beginning to love a girl who did not exist. - -He saw her transcendent kindness, her absolute lack of egoism, her rare -and lovely spirit, but he called it and he thought of it as ladylike -delicacy. It was her soul; he thought it was her manners. - -He walked all the way home, reflecting upon her, lost in a revery half -troubled, half delightful. A sweet, a wonderful girl--but obstinate. And -obstinacy he did not like. He was the most outrageous young tyrant who -ever lived. He ruled everyone, he always had ruled everyone. His mother -had never thwarted him, his sister had never rebelled; whatever friends -he had selected in school and college had followed his lead with -satisfactory submissiveness. He had the qualities of a leader; the -immense self-assurance, the severe determination to get his own way, and -he had that magic idea in his mind, which subtly communicates itself and -changes the very atmosphere, which enthralls all minds more sensitive -and therefore less positive--that idea of his own superiority. He came -of an old Carolina family, and he believed himself to be better born -than anyone about him; he had been successful in his studies, and he -believed himself to be cleverer than anyone about him. Appearance didn’t -trouble him; he didn’t think himself handsome, and he didn’t care. He -knew very well that he was attractive, and that people liked him. Even -the fact of being poor didn’t bother him. He wouldn’t stay so. - -So, lordly and thoughtful, in his shabby overcoat and his worn shoes, he -mounted the steps of the imposing house in which he was living--his -aunt’s house. She had begged him to live there until he was “settled.” -He had consented; he didn’t feel under obligations; he thought it was -nice of her, but her duty. He would have been glad, in her place, to -help a young Landry to get on his feet. - -A respectful Negro butler opened the door, and he entered and went up to -his own room--a handsome and well-furnished room, with bureaus and -wardrobe and chest of drawers all lamentably empty. In the huge closet -hung only a decent suit of evening clothes and some white flannel -trousers, and in two of the bureau drawers lay piles of shirts and -underwear which his aunt herself mended and mended. She wouldn’t have so -much as suggested replenishing his stock; he would have felt himself -grossly insulted. - -He had left his beloved mother and sister in Charleston, where they were -living with difficulty on a very small pension, and he took from them -only an incredibly small sum, enough for carfares and that sort of -thing, until he could be earning something. But though waiting was hard -for them and hard for him, he would not be hurried. Until he could find -a place which seemed to him advantageous, he would take nothing. He knew -what he was about. Now was his chance, and perhaps his only chance, to -look about him. He intended to make a good start, to go into a business -in which he could stop. Let him only see an opportunity; he asked no -more. - -This evening his plan for the future was changed and enlarged. It -contained, as always, lavish provision for his mother and sister, but it -included Rosaleen. In the course of the next few years he was going to -marry her. - -He had, however, too much sense to mention anything of this, to hint at -the existence of a Rosaleen, in that household. It wouldn’t be gallant. -He was supposed to admire his cousin Caroline; not to the point of -compromising himself; everyone knew he wasn’t in love with her. But -while living there and seeing her every day, it wouldn’t, he felt, be -polite to fall openly in love with someone else. - -His aunt was a woman whom he thoroughly admired. Possessed of a gracious -and charming worldliness, she had nevertheless the most severe morals, -the most rigid code. She didn’t like New York or its people; she was -shocked at almost everything; she said the women weren’t ladies and the -men weren’t chivalrous; that the people altogether were vulgar and -“fast.” But, she said, she was obliged to live there for the sake of -Caroline’s studies. It wasn’t really quite that; however, her intention -was natural and praiseworthy, and she did her best to accomplish her -unspoken ambition for her child. - -Nick Landry enjoyed living there. It was a well-appointed and -well-managed home, with an air of perpetual festivity. There were always -young men about, and theatre parties and dinner parties and little -dances--all the charmed atmosphere of a home with a young girl in it. -Mrs. Allanby had known how to make the place agreeable, even fascinating -for young men. That was her part; to provide Caroline with a matchless -setting. To see Caroline sitting at the piano, under a lamp with a shade -of artfully selected tint, charmingly dressed, and singing in a voice a -bit colourless but so well bred; to know that there would be punch--not -too much of it, for Mrs. Allanby was vigilant,--sandwiches and cakes -such as no one else ever had; and an air of flattering attention, an -enveloping hospitality--wasn’t that a deadly snare? And Nick was the -privileged guest, the man of the house. Of course he liked it! - -So that evening while he sat there listening to Caroline sing, and -thinking all the time of Rosaleen, he felt almost treacherous. And just -a little proud of his well-concealed secret. He felt that his dark face -was inscrutable.... - -Perhaps, he thought, at that very instant, Rosaleen too was sitting at -the piano in her home. - - -II - -It was one of Nick’s old-fashioned ideas--that a man must always be the -first to appear at a tryst, must unfailingly be found waiting by the -beloved woman when she arrived. He had made a point of being at least -fifteen minutes in advance of the appointed time, so that Rosaleen -should see him there, in chivalrous if somewhat irritable patience. He -was always ready to wait for a woman, to defer to her, to serve her; he -believed it to be his duty as a gentleman; and yet so fierce and haughty -was his spirit that he was never without an inward resentment. - -He was waiting for her now in the corridor of the Fifth Avenue library. -It was a wet October afternoon; he sat on a stone bench with his coat -collar still turned up, the brim of his hat still turned down, just as -he had come in from the street. He hadn’t even taken off his tan gloves, -soaked black by the rain; he didn’t care how he looked, and he knew -Rosaleen wouldn’t care either. He had certainly not the look of an -expectant lover, this lean and shabby young man with his haughty glance, -his ready-made overcoat too large for him, his big rubber overshoes over -old and shapeless boots. And yet more than one girl stole a glance at -him. - -Quarter of an hour late! He only wished that he could smoke. He was -beginning to feel chilly, too, and terribly depressed. Wet people going -past him and past him, some alone, some in couples, treading and talking -quietly. He regarded them with morose interest. All of them after -books!... Hadn’t he too tried to live that way, vicariously, through -books? All very well as a substitute; but there came back to him now, -very vividly, the bitter restlessness, the torment that would seize him -when he read of some enchanting foreign land, of fierce and desperate -adventures. Of course he knew that his life wouldn’t be, and couldn’t -be, at all like any other life ever lived in this world; and yet, in -spite of his faith in his own destiny, he fretted so, he chafed so at -these slow years, these hours so wasted. What was the matter? Why didn’t -life begin? - -He was pleased enough with this romance with Rosaleen. This was quite as -good as anything in books. Only, to be really perfect, love should have -been mixed up with peril, with terror, with gallant rescues. It should -have been a drama, and it was nothing but an emotion. He was still so -young that he could not imagine death; it seemed to him inevitable that -he should live and that Rosaleen should live, until they were -old--granted, of course, the absurd premise that young people really -_do_ become old. He saw no shadow over life, no fear of change or loss. - -He stirred uneasily. Twenty minutes late! This was abusing her feminine -privilege! Doubly unfortunate, too, because he had come prepared to -remonstrate with Rosaleen, and the longer she kept him waiting, the -chillier and damper he grew, the more severe would the remonstrance be. - -At last he saw her coming, and her sweetness almost disarmed him. And -then made him even more severe. A girl like that, to be meeting a man -about in public places! A girl so pretty, so charming, that people -stared at her.... The damp air and her haste had given her a lovely -colour, and as she hurried toward him, he found for her a pitifully -time-worn simile which nevertheless struck him as startlingly novel and -true--she was like a wild rose. - -She had very little “style”; her clothes were rather cheap, he observed. -But she was superlatively ladylike, refined, modest. He wouldn’t have -had anything changed, from her sturdy little boots to her plain dark -hat. - -He rose and came toward her, hat in hand, and for a moment they looked -at each other, speechlessly. - -“Suppose we have tea?” he said, at last. “There’s a nice place near here -where they have very good waffles.” - -“I’m not a bit hungry,” said Rosaleen. - -Nick was. He had gone without lunch in order to have enough money for -tea. - -“You ought to be, at your age,” he said. - -“It isn’t age that makes you hungry,” said Rosaleen. “It’s what you’ve -had for lunch.” - -Nick said no more, but took her by the arm. And was surprised and -shocked to feel how fragile an arm it was. He determined that she should -eat a great deal. - -He stopped near the door to reclaim their umbrellas, and they went out -together into the chilly and misty twilight. The crowds on Fifth Avenue -jostled them, but Nick, tall and grim, held his umbrella high over -Rosaleen’s head, and led her to the quiet little tea room he had -selected. - -“Now, then!” he said, when they were seated opposite each other at a -small table, and tea and waffles and honey had been ordered. And he -began. - -He told her first of all what was expected of a young girl: - -By the world in general. - -By men. - -By himself. - -He told her how easy it was to be misjudged. - -And how serious. - -Then he told her how he particularly didn’t want _her_ to be misjudged. - -“You _must_ let me come to see you in your own home!” he said. “You’re -so young that you don’t realize how indiscreet and--how dangerous it is -to be meeting a strange man this way. You don’t know anything about me. -And you ought to. I want you to. There isn’t anything I want to--to -conceal. I want you to know me and all about me. And I want to know all -about you.” - -Once more he was horribly disturbed at seeing her eyes fill with tears. -He leaned across the table. - -“Look here!” he assured her. “Please! Don’t _care_! Don’t imagine -that--if there’s anything you think I might....” - -He didn’t know how to proceed. He stopped a moment, frowning, to arrange -his ideas. - -“I don’t care _where_ you live, or _how_ you live, or _what_ your people -are,” he said. “It can’t make any difference to me. It’s only for your -sake. I wish you’d believe me. It’s only because it’s not fair to you to -go on meeting you like this. Because I mean to go on. I’m _going_ to see -you. And I want it to be in your home. Please let me, Rosaleen.” - -It was the first time he had used her name. - -“Please let me!” he entreated. - -She gave up. She told him yes, to-morrow evening; for Miss Amy would not -be home then. - - -III - -It was a nice, respectable house in a quiet street below Morningside -Park. He was agreeably surprised at its respectability, for he had -scented a mystery in Rosaleen’s reluctance to have him come--great -poverty, perhaps, or a disreputable relative. He went into the -vestibule, and looked for the bell. There it was--Humbert--; he rang; -the door clicked, and he entered. An old-fashioned house, the carpeted -halls were dark and stuffy; he climbed up and up, and on the fourth -landing there stood Rosaleen. - -She was very pale, and the hand she held out to him was cold as ice. An -altogether unfamiliar Rosaleen, silent, even, it struck him, a -_desperate_ girl. She led him into the dining room. - -“Excuse me just a moment!” she said. “I’ll tell--my uncle--you’re here.” - -And vanished, leaving him alone. He looked about him with interest, -because it was Rosaleen’s home. And he was sorry that it was such a -stuffy and unlovely one. He was used to large rooms and fine old -furniture, to a sort of dignity and fineness in living. This dining -room, with its swarm of decorations, the crowded pictures, the scrawny -plants, the flimsy and ugly varnished furniture, the sewing machine, -the dark red paper on the walls, distressed him. He sat down on one of -the straight chairs against the wall to wait, trying to imagine his fair -Rosaleen in this setting. - -In the meantime Rosaleen had hurried to knock at the door of Mr. -Humbert’s room. - -“Mr. Morton!” she murmured. “Here’s a young man--a--a friend of Miss -Waters.... Would you like to come out and see him?” - -“Presently,” the dignified voice replied, and Rosaleen hastened back. - -“He’ll be in presently,” she repeated to Nick, as she returned. He had -risen when she entered, and once more he took her hand. Her nervousness, -her distress, filled him with pity. - -“Isn’t there anyone else? Do you live all alone with your uncle?” - -“Oh, no! There’s ... there’s--a--cousin.... But she’s out.... Won’t you -sit down?” - -When he had done so, she fetched him a book from a little table. - -“Would you like to look at some views?” she asked. - -“No,” said Nick, smiling. “I wouldn’t.” - -“Would you like to play cards?” - -“No! I’d rather talk to you!” - -She sat down on the edge of the couch--that couch covered with green -corduroy, with _nine_ sofa cushions of the most frightful sort. - -Now Nick unconsciously expected a girl to do the talking, and the -pleasing and the entertaining. Gallant responses were his part. So he -waited, but quite in vain, for Rosaleen had no tradition of -entertaining, and no experience. Never before had she sat in that room -with a young man. - -“Have you any of your work here?” he asked, at last, in despair. - -“Just those!” she answered, pointing to the transparencies. “There isn’t -any place for me to draw here.” - -“Very pretty!” said Nick. “Are you going to be a professional artist?” - -“I hope so. It takes years, though.” - -She was silent for a moment; then she went on, dejectedly: - -“Sometimes I think I never will succeed. I don’t seem to improve. And I -love it so----” - -“Don’t take it so seriously.” - -“I have to. I’ve got to earn a living by it.” - -“I don’t believe you’ll ever have to earn your living,” said Nick. “Not -a girl as--lovely as you.” - -She blushed painfully, even her neck grew scarlet. And he felt his own -face grow hot. - -“I...” he began. “There are sure to be plenty of men who’ll want to do -that for you.” - -There was a distressing silence. He found it very hard to keep from -saying: - -“_I_ will! _I’m_ going to work for you, and get you everything in the -world you want, darling wild rose!” - -And to divert his mind from this dangerous thought, he rose and picked -up the book she had had in her hand. - -“Are these the ‘views’?” he asked. “Looks very interesting.... Won’t you -show them to me?” - -And he sat down beside her on the couch. He really didn’t think it a -particularly significant or daring thing to do; he had sat beside a -great many other girls; he was neither impudent nor presumptuous, and no -one ever had objected or seemed at all disturbed. So that he was -surprised at Rosaleen’s agitation. He didn’t know how formidable he was -to her; how mysterious, how irresistible. Her hands shook as she took -the book of views and opened it. - -But, before she had spoken a single word, the sound of a footstep in the -hall made her jump up and seat herself in a nearby chair with her book, -and none too soon, for the curtains parted and a venerable, grey-bearded -old gentleman looked in. - -“Won’t you come in?” said Rosaleen, while Nick got up. - -The old gentleman advanced and held out his hand to Nick with a -scholarly sort of smile. - -“_Good_ evening, sir!” he said. “I was sorry not to have welcomed you -with somewhat greater cordiality when you first came in, but I was hard -at my work.” - -“Not at all!” Nick murmured. - -“And that sort of work makes its demands, I can tell you! They who know -not speak lightly of ‘writing,’ as of a pleasant diversion; but we -initiated ones...! The evening is the only time that I can confidently -claim as my own, so you will understand that I dare not waste a moment -of the Muse’s presence.” - -Which, considering that the poor old chap had acquired all his -scholarship alone and unaided, and after he was more or less mature, was -a creditable speech. But young Landry, _not_ knowing the circumstances, -was not impressed. He said, “Certainly!” - -“I suppose Rosaleen has told you something of my literary labours?” he -enquired, “A romance of the time of Nero. A poor thing, I dare say, but -mine own. And, whether or not it takes the public fancy, it has at -least served to beguile many weary hours for its creator.” - -This was out of his preface; a bit he was very fond of. - -“I don’t know whether you are a student of history, sir,” the old -gentleman went on. “But if the subject interests you at all, I have some -exceedingly interesting pictures--views of the Holy Land, which I should -be very pleased to show you.” - -“Thank you very much,” said Nick. “I should like to see them--some time. -But I’m afraid I can’t wait now....” - -The scholar shook his head. - -“My dear sir,” he said, smiling. “I certainly did not propose to begin -so extensive an undertaking at the present hour. It would take you half -a day to assimilate the material I have on hand. I thought only to -introduce you to the subject, to give you--as one might say--a glimpse -of the glories to come.” - -He crossed the room and picked up the very book Rosaleen had laid down. - -“This is our starting point,” he said. “It is from this quaint little -old world village that my very dear friend, the Reverend Nathan Peters, -set out on his remarkable trip. The record of that trip may be found in -his book ‘Following the Old Trail.’ The written record, that is. The -pictorial record--which I think I may venture to call the most uniquely -interesting and fascinating thing of its sort now in existence--he -entrusted to me, and it forms the basis of this collection of -photographs, original drawings, and paintings.” - -Nick could not get away. He was obliged once more to seat himself on the -sofa, this time beside a bearded old gentleman, and to look and listen -for an interminable time. He had to watch desperately for a moment to -escape, and he had to go without a word to Rosaleen, except a formal -“good-evening.” The uncle accompanied him to the front door, even to the -top of the stairs, to invite him cordially to come again. - - -IV - -Outside in the street he stopped to light a cigarette. And to sigh with -relief. What an evening! - -And still was happy, very happy, because Rosaleen was so respectable. - - - - -CHAPTER SIX - - -I - -From the midst of entrancing dreams Rosaleen was awakened the next -morning by a most unwelcome voice, and she opened her eyes to find Miss -Amy sitting on the edge of her bed. She had been asleep when Miss Amy -came in the night before, but she had never expected, never even hoped -that she would be able to avoid a dreadful cross-examination. And here -it was beginning. - -“Mr. Morton tells me you had a young man in here last evening,” she was -saying. “I should like you to explain it. Who was he?” - -Rosaleen, terribly at a disadvantage, thus lying flat in bed, -dishevelled and surprised, answered that he was a friend of Miss Waters. - -“Why did he come here?” - -“I--he said he wanted to call....” - -“And you gave him this permission without consulting me?” - -“I didn’t think you’d mind----” - -“I _do_ mind, Rosaleen. I mind very much. It was something you had no -right to do.” - -“I won’t again,” said Rosaleen. - -“I should hope not. Who was he?” - -“A friend of Miss Waters.” - -“What was his name?” - -“Mr. Landry.” - -“What is he? What does he do? Where does he live?” - -“I don’t know.” - -Miss Amy got up. - -“I shall telephone to Miss Waters and ask her.” - -“No!” said Rosaleen. “Don’t! Please!... I’ll never let him come -again....” - -“That makes no difference. It’s my duty to know what sort of young men -you’re asking into this house. I shall certainly ask Miss Waters for a -little further information.” - -“She won’t know!” cried Rosaleen. “He--she doesn’t know him very -well.... He just happened to drop in at her studio one day....” - -“Why?” - -“To see about a picture....” - -“Is he an artist?” - -“I--don’t think so.” - -“How often have you seen him?” - -“Oh!... I don’t know--exactly....” - -She sat up suddenly. - -“Won’t it satisfy you if I never have him here again?” she cried. “Or -anybody else, ever?” - -“No. I want you to have him here again. I want to see him.” - -Rosaleen looked at that impassive wolfish face, at those black eyes -scrutinizing her behind their eyeglasses, and a profound distrust came -over her. In that instant, for the first time, she questioned the -motives of her benefactress; she doubted her goodness. Instead of duty -in her glance, she saw malice. Never, never, if she could possibly help -it, should Miss Amy and Nick Landry come face to face. - -She relapsed into what Miss Amy called a “sullen silence,” but which was -in reality only a desperate silence. There sat that woman on her bed, -formulating God knows what plans against her. She was so helpless! She -lay back on her pillow, as if she were bound hand and foot, her soft -hair spread about her, her face stony with despair, the very picture of -a maiden victim. - -“I am sorry you forgot yourself to such an extent,” observed Miss Amy, -and rose. “Get up now and dress; it’s late.” - -Rosaleen sprang out of bed. - -“What _can_ I _possibly_ tell him?” she cried to herself. “He’ll want to -come again, of course.... What can I tell him?” - -She looked for him at Miss Waters’ studio the next afternoon, looked for -him with vehement longing. She was in such terror that he would go to -the flat again and be met there by Miss Amy. If she had known where he -lived, she would have written to him, to entreat him not to do so. But -that course blocked, she could do nothing but hope and hope that he -would instead come to the studio, where she could tell him.... She -didn’t care _what_ she told him, what monstrous thing she invented, if -only she kept him away. - -He didn’t come. She flagrantly neglected her work. Leaning back against -the wall, arms clasped behind her head, she gossiped with Miss Waters. -And Miss Waters, stifling a feeling of guilt at thus not earning her -money, gave herself without restraint to this illicit, this joyful -chatter. For Rosaleen was joyful, in spite of her great anxiety, her -dread of losing her Nicholas. Even if she lost him now, she would have -the happiness of knowing that one man at least had looked upon her with -tenderness and delight. - -Miss Waters talked about Brussels and Paris, of course, and to-day, with -new boldness, began to speak of Love. Hitherto she had never mentioned -this topic, but now that Rosaleen had a young man, she felt she might -consider her altogether mature, initiated, so to speak. So she told a -long and thrilling story of an artist--a very poor young artist--who had -fallen in love with a wealthy young girl of good family. And how cruel -she was to him. It was difficult to understand why they had so eagerly -desired these meetings which Miss Waters feelingly described, for -apparently she had come to the rendezvous only to be cruel, and he only -to weep and to suffer. By and by she had married a distinguished man, -and the young artist began, with true French propriety, to die of -consumption. Then the lady, not to be outdone, began to suffer too; the -anguish of remorse. She compromised her name by visiting his studio as -he lay dying, and her life was ruined. It was awfully long, but to Miss -Waters intensely interesting, because she had actually seen the people -with her own eyes. - -A little earlier than usual Rosaleen went home, to find Miss Amy there, -reading, and coldly suspicious. - -“She thinks I’ve met him,” she thought. “Don’t I wish I had!” - -A joyful sense of her own freedom came over her; no one could really -stop her, no one could restrain her. She _would_ see him! All the -suspicious, middle-aged spinsters on earth couldn’t stop her! She was -more subtle, more daring, she was stronger than Miss Amy! - -And yet she passed the evening in dread--terrified that she might hear -the door bell ring, and that it might be Nick. - - -II - -It was the custom in their household for Mr. Humbert when he went down -stairs every morning, to look in the mail box, and if there were -anything of interest there, to ring the bell three times, as a signal -for Rosaleen to come running down. If there were nothing but cards from -laundries and carpet cleaners, and so on, he didn’t ring. - -But on the next morning, to the astonishment of Rosaleen, he came back, -up the four flights of stairs again, with the mail in his hand. And -without a word, gave it to his sister. She showed no surprise; it was -evidently prearranged between them. - -Rosaleen stood by, waiting. But Mr. Humbert turned away and the door was -closed after him. And Miss Amy walked off to her own room with the -letters. - -Rosaleen, left alone in the dark passage, clenched her hands. She knew, -she was certain that one of those letters was for her. But dared not -ask. She thought that she might be able to steal it; she waited for a -chance to enter Miss Amy’s room, and there in the waste paper basket she -saw the torn fragments of an envelope. With her meek air she went about -her work; Miss Amy really fancied that she suspected nothing. But the -moment Miss Amy had gone out to market, she ran into the room and -emptied the waste paper basket on to the floor, and, on her hands and -knees, began to piece the envelope together. It was! Miss Rosaleen -Humbert! But there was not a trace of the letter which must have been in -it. - -A dreadful resentment possessed her. She _hated_ Miss Amy. As she sat -sewing through the interminable evening, her anger almost stifled her. -This woman had cheated and defrauded her. She had stolen her very life! -And she was absolutely at her mercy, absolutely helpless. She couldn’t -even explain to Nick. He would think of course that she had got his -letter; he would see that she didn’t answer it. Perhaps he had suggested -another meeting, perhaps he would go to wait for her somewhere, wait and -wait, in vain.... - -That thought made her desperate. She thought for a moment of boldly -confronting Miss Amy, but she very soon relinquished the idea. It -couldn’t do any good, and it might do harm. No! She would have to try -some other way. - -The lamplight shone on her smooth head, bent over her work, her profile -turned to Miss Amy had the guileless sweetness and carelessness of a -child.... And Miss Amy was consumed with anger--an anger a hundred times -fiercer than Rosaleen’s. She pretended to be reading, but the hands that -held the magazine trembled, and she never turned a page. Rage, scorn, a -hatred which she could not comprehend, filled her at the sight of this -false maiden, this treacherous creature who dared stretch out her hand -after the thing which life had withheld from the older woman. And -suddenly, with shocking coldness, she burst forth: - -“Did you tell that man _I_ was your _cousin_?” - -Rosaleen looked up, pale with fright. She waited a moment. - -“I said--I only said--a sort of cousin....” - -“You let him think that you--were something that you are _not_?” - -She was silent. - -“When he came here, did he know your position in this household?” - -“Not exactly....” - -Miss Amy smiled. - -“I thought not. Now, Rosaleen, I want you to listen to me. I knew this -would happen. I warned poor dear Miss Julie of it. I _told_ her that -when you were grown, these--complications were sure to occur. I could -see that you were going to be that sort of a girl, frivolous and -silly--misled by flattery.” She had to stop for a moment, to choke down -the words on the tip of her tongue, terms of contempt for Rosaleen which -common sense told her had not yet been deserved. Then she went on: - -“I shan’t try to prevent you from seeing--young men. It’s none of my -business. But I won’t have any deceit about it. Anyone who’s interested -in you has a right to know who you are and what you are.” - -With a mighty effort Rosaleen concealed every trace of emotion. She -looked up with an impatient sigh. - -“But, Miss Amy, I can’t be telling all about myself to everyone I meet. -I don’t expect to see him--that man--again. I just didn’t bother.” - -“That’s not true!” said Miss Amy. “I may as well tell you that a letter -came from him this morning, in which he mentioned that you -‘unfortunately had no chance to arrange another meeting.’ Now I want you -to tell me all about this affair.” - -“Nothing to tell!” said Rosaleen, airily. “I met him, and he asked if he -could come to see me, and I said yes. I’m sorry I did it. I never will -again.” - -Miss Amy took up the magazine again. Intolerable to sit in the room with -this girl! She wished she had the courage to send her to the kitchen -where she belonged. - -The clock struck nine and Rosaleen got up. - -“I think I’ll go to bed,” she said. “Good-night, Miss Amy!” - -Miss Amy answered without looking up. - -But when Rosaleen had got into bed and turned out the light, she entered -her room without knocking, with that calm authority that at once -intimidated and enraged the young girl. And sat down heavily on the cot, -making it creak. - -“Rosaleen,” she said. “As long as you can’t be trusted to act honourably -of your own accord, I shall have to do so for you. I am going to write -to the young man and tell him your history.” - -Rosaleen gave a little shriek. - -“Oh, no!” she cried. “Oh no! You _couldn’t_ be so cruel and horrible!” - -Miss Amy was a little alarmed at the emotion she had aroused. She -hesitated. - -“Then will you tell him yourself?” - -“Yes!” Rosaleen said. “Yes! I will!” - -Miss Amy sat there, a dim bulk in the darkness. - -“I shall write to him,” she said slowly, “and ask him to come here, and -you can tell him. Tell him what you should have told him in the -beginning.” - -The next morning when Rosaleen was dressed and ready to go out, Miss Amy -handed her a letter. - -“You may see it, if you like,” she said. - -But what Rosaleen looked at was the address; one glance stamped it on -her mind. - - -III - -When Landry came down to breakfast the next morning there were two -letters lying by his plate. He concealed his great anxiety to open them; -he sat down and asked his aunt how she had passed the night. She made a -point of coming down to take breakfast with him, although it was rather -hard for her to be about so early. But she adored the boy, and his -affectionate politeness more than compensated her. - -She said thank you, she had slept very well. - -“Do you mind?” said Nicholas, picking up his letters. - -“Of cou’se not!” she answered, and he opened the first. - -Miss Amy Humbert would be pleased to see him on Wednesday evening -between eight and nine. The old fashioned formality made him smile, but -it pleased him, it pleased him very much. It was one step nearer to his -Rosaleen. Then he opened the other. - -His aunt noticed that he had stopped eating. He sat staring at his -plate, lost in thought, frowning. Then he looked up stealthily at her, -and she endured his critical regard with calmness. And he evidently -decided at last that she was to be trusted, for he got up and brought -his two letters to her. - -She read the invitation with a smile; then she looked at the other, -scratched, scrawled on a piece of cheap paper in a stamped envelope. - - “Dear Mr. Landry: - - “Please don’t come on Wednesday. Please don’t _ever_ come. If you - will come to Miss Waters’ studio this afternoon I will explain. But - please do not write, because I do not get the letters.” - -And it was signed simply “R.” - -“And I can’t go to Miss Waters’!” he cried. “I can’t possibly ask for an -afternoon off the very first week of this new job!” - -“Who is ‘R’?” asked his aunt, gently. - -“Rosaleen. What do you make of this, Aunt Emmie?” - -“My dearest boy, Ah don’t know anything about it at all, remember! Can’t -you tell me something about her?” - -“I don’t know much about her. But--I’m interested in her. I--I like -her.” - -“But what sort of people are they?” - -“Oh, fairly decent! Respectable, quiet sort of people, as far as I can -see. She’s an orphan--lives with her uncle and cousin. She’s studying -art.” - -All this sounded reassuring to his aunt. The first shock was over, and -she began to feel pity for his trouble. He was so agitated, walking up -and down the room, with his sulky, boyish scowl. - -“Good Lord! What a situation!” he cried. “She asks me not to come and -not to write--and they have no telephone. And she asks me to meet her, -so that she can explain, and I’m not able to go. And she may be in -trouble of some sort. I think it’s very likely.” - -“Shall Ah go there for you this afternoon, and explain?” - -“No!” said Nick. But he stopped short, and braced himself for an -argument. “But I’ll tell you what you _can_ do, Aunt Emmy!” - - - - -CHAPTER SEVEN - - -I - -Rosaleen came home from Miss Waters’ that afternoon terribly dispirited. -He hadn’t come! - -The afternoons were growing very short now. The flat was altogether dark -when she let herself in, and she went from room to room, to light the -gas jets and turn them very low. First in the long hall, then in Mr. -Humbert’s room, with its flat top desk covered with papers and its -severe orderliness, then in Miss Amy’s room, where, in the mirror over -the bureau, she caught a glimpse of herself, still in her hat and -jacket, looking oddly blurred and misty in the dim light. Somehow that -image frightened her; she hurried into the dining room, her own little -cell, and at last, with relief, into the kitchen. Never had the rambling -old place seemed so large and so gloomy, or herself so desolate. - -She put on her big apron and set to work preparing the supper, a -shocking meal of fried steak, fried potatoes, coffee, a tin of tomatoes -left unaltered in their watery insipidity, and a flabby little lemon -pie from the baker’s. She was nervous; she fancied she heard sounds -from all those silent dimly lighted rooms behind her. She started when a -paper bag on the table rattled stiffly all by itself. She was, for once, -glad to hear the sound of a key in the lock and Miss Amy’s heavy tread -coming down the hall. - -She had been to the library; she was carrying four big volumes which she -flung down on the dining room couch. Then she looked into the kitchen. - -“Mmmm! The coffee smells good!” she said, affably, and went off to her -own room. She never offered any assistance, even to setting the table. -She considered all that to be Rosaleen’s affair. Nor did she notice that -the child looked tired and pale and dejected. - -Nor did she notice that Rosaleen ate almost nothing. They had, all three -of them, very small appetites, which, when added to their highly -unappetizing meals, made life very economical. Moreover, she considered -it meritorious to eat very little, and not to enjoy what you did eat. - -They finished. Mr. Humbert rose, said, very pleasantly, “Ah...!” and -went off to his writing. Miss Amy sat down on the couch to look over her -library books, and Rosaleen, putting on her apron again, began carrying -out the dishes. She was slow that evening; she didn’t want to finish. - -“If I only had a place where I could go and sit by myself!” she thought, -not for the first time. “I don’t want to go and sit there with _her_! -And if I go in my own room, she’ll be after me, to see what’s the -matter.” - -She sat down in the kitchen and began to polish a copper tea kettle -which was never used. - -Suddenly the door bell rang. She jumped up, pressed the button which -opened the down stairs door, and hurried along the passage. But Miss Amy -was before her, and stood squarely in the doorway. - -In a dream, a nightmare, Rosaleen heard Nick’s voice: - -“Miss Humbert?” he asked, politely. - -“_I_ am Miss Humbert!” - -“May we see Miss Rosaleen Humbert?” - -“There’s no such person,” said Miss Amy. - -There was a pause. Then another voice, a feminine one, soft, agreeable, -but unmistakably rebuking, said, - -“Ah am Mrs. Allanby, Mr. Landry’s aunt.” - -“Ah!” said Miss Amy. - -“Ma nephew was afraid that perhaps you might not have liked his calling -on your cousin----” - -“Rosaleen is not my cousin,” said Miss Amy, contemptuously. - -Mrs. Allanby was just beginning to speak, when Nick broke in. He -couldn’t keep his temper any longer. The spectacle of his beloved and -dignified aunt standing outside the door, and being spoken to so -outrageously by this woman both shocked and infuriated him. - -“Will you kindly ask Miss Rosaleen to step here for a minute?” he said. -“We won’t trouble you long!” - -His air of disgust, of superiority, stung the unhappy woman to still -worse behaviour. She _could_ not stop; she took a sort of monstrous -delight in going on, in defying the warnings of her conscience and her -pride. - -“Evidently you don’t understand,” she said. “You seem to think the girl -is a relative. She isn’t. My sister found her posing for a class of art -students, and she felt sorry for her and brought her home. My sister was -very good to her, and for her sake I’ve gone on feeding and clothing -her. She does a little light work round the place, to pay for her -keep....” - -Suddenly all her annoyance, her years of irritation with Rosaleen, her -ill-temper kept under such iron control, all the suffering she had -endured from this false calm, this false pleasantness, this inhuman -repression of her natural self, burst forth. - -“I’m sick and _tired_ of it!” she cried. “Such nonsense! The girl, with -her airs and graces.... Just a common, low Irish girl.... She’s had -advantages I never had in my young days.... I’m sick and tired of it! -It’s the final straw, for her to be asking company here.... I won’t have -it! It’s _my_ home, after all, and there’s no place in it where _she_ -can entertain!” - -They were all silent, aghast at her violence, her coarse cruelty. Her -voice was loud, so loud as to arouse Mr. Humbert from his work. He -thrust his venerable head out of his door, but instantly popped it in -again. Miss Amy, horrified at herself, trembling with rage, ready to -burst into tears, cried out, suddenly---- - -“You can just take them into the kitchen!” - -And stood aside, pointing down the passage. - -“Come along, Aunt Emmie!” said Nick. “Come away before I----” - -But she had entered, and was going along the passage. Rosaleen went -before her into the kitchen, drew forward the one chair, and droned -another in from the dining room. Mrs. Allanby, gracious and kind, sat -down, and smiled at Rosaleen. - -“Come and sit down beside me!” she said. - -Rosaleen shook her head. Mrs. Allanby spoke again, she thought she even -heard Nick’s voice, but she couldn’t understand them. They sounded -very, very faint. She was dizzy, sick, her ears were ringing. She stood -leaning against the tubs, still in her gingham apron, staring at -them---- - -At that charming and beautifully dressed woman, at the scowling young -man standing behind her, proud as Lucifer, in the _kitchen_.... - -She flung her arm across her eyes. - -“Go away!” she cried. “Go away!” - - -II - -She didn’t really know when they had gone. She stood without moving, -without hearing or seeing for a long time. Then suddenly the turmoil -within her died down and she felt perfectly calm. - -She went into her own room and began packing her clothes into a little -wicker suitcase, quite carefully and neatly. She hadn’t even troubled to -close the door, and inevitably Miss Amy came in. - -“What are you doing?” she asked. - -“I’m going away,” said Rosaleen. - -“What nonsense! At this time of night! I won’t allow it!” - -“You can’t stop me,” said Rosaleen. - -Miss Amy was frightened, unspeakably dismayed at what she had done. - -“Don’t be silly!” she said. “Let bygones be bygones. I--I’m sorry, -Rosaleen. Let’s forget all about it. Get to bed now, like a good girl!” - -Rosaleen shook her head. - -“No!” she said, “I’ve got to go.” - -“You wicked girl! Think of all we’ve done for you!” said Miss Amy, in -despair. - -“I don’t care,” said Rosaleen. - -“I won’t let you take that suitcase, then. It’s mine.” - -Instantly Rosaleen began taking her things out of it. - -“I’ll wrap them in a newspaper,” she said. - -Miss Amy stood there threatening, entreating, arguing, but Rosaleen was -like a stone. She did wrap her things in a newspaper; then she put on -her hat and coat and went out into the passage. Miss Amy stood with her -back against the front door. - -“I won’t let you!” she cried. “Where would you go--all alone--at this -time of night!” - -A horrible fear had risen in her mind. If Rosaleen “went wrong,” _she_ -would be responsible. She didn’t much care what else happened to her, as -long as _that_ was avoided. But she couldn’t have _that_ on her -conscience. - -“Morton!” she cried, desperately. “Morton! Come out and speak to this -wicked, headstrong girl!” - -No earthly power could have brought the author into this. He didn’t even -answer. He got up from his desk and slipped across the room, and _very_ -quietly locked the door. - -“I won’t let you out!” cried Miss Amy. - -“I’ll stand here till you do!” said Rosaleen firmly. - - * * * * * - - * * * * * - - * * * * * - -A long time went by. Miss Amy had grown weary beyond endurance. And -there stood Rosaleen, leaning against the wall, with her newspaper -package under her arm, pallid, solemn, unconquerable. - -Suddenly Miss Amy began to cry. - -“Very well, you miserable, heartless girl!” she sobbed. “Go, then, if -you _will_!” - -Rosaleen went by her, out of the door, and down the stairs. And never -again did Miss Amy set eyes on her in this world. - - - - -BOOK TWO: AMONG THE ARTISTS - - - - -CHAPTER ONE - - -I - -She felt, really and actually, like a new person, and she looked like -one, too. She was walking down Sixth Avenue, after an interview with the -fashion editor of a big magazine who had said that neither now nor at -any possible future time would he use any of her work. It was a sharp -November day, and she was still wearing a thin suit, in the pocket of -which lay a fifty-cent piece, borrowed from Miss Waters, all the money -she had in the world. And still she was happy, profoundly happy. She -walked briskly, staring candidly at whatever interested her, no longer -trying to be ladylike, and feeling herself for the first time in her -life an independent personality, not obliged to please anyone. And she -was going home to a place where she was welcome, where she was -encouraged and admired--in short, to Miss Waters’ flat. - -Miss Waters had taken her in on that terrible evening without asking -for a word of explanation. She had simply kissed her and suggested going -to bed, and when Rosaleen was lying beside her in the dark, both of them -fiercely wide awake, she said not a word, never put a question. The next -morning she had got up early and made coffee and toast and brought it to -Rosaleen as she lay in bed. At last she had heard the story and she was -horrified. She quite agreed that Rosaleen had done well to leave Miss -Amy, but being old and more cruelly schooled in the world’s ways, she -had seen how much the girl was losing. A home, a roof over one’s head, -and food and clothing--she knew the cost of these in money and in -effort. She had gone, on her own initiative, to see Miss Amy, to see if -she could not rescue something for her lamb. She never mentioned that -interview to Rosaleen, and she had tried to forget it as soon as -possible. It was a humiliating and complete failure; the European Art -Teacher had had very much the worst of it. - -She had then devoted herself to heartening this dejected and sorrowful -young creature, and with amazing results. Rosaleen was now convinced -that the world lay before her, to be conquered by her brush. Freedom -from criticism and hostility transformed her. Miss Waters suggested -various places where she might look for “art work,” and she went to -them without timidity, was never discouraged by refusals. She knew that -Miss Waters was glad to have her there as long as she wished to stay, -and whatever expense she caused she expected to repay before long. -Cheerful and pleasant days, these were. When she wasn’t out hunting -jobs, she was with Miss Waters, drawing or helping her in her very -easy-going and muddled housekeeping. In the evening they had dinner at -little Italian table d’hôtes, they went to “movies,” or they worked at -home together. Rosaleen made dress designs to show as samples of her -ability, things so spirited and attractive that Miss Waters was -surprised. - -“I never knew you were so gifted, my dear,” she said. “I knew--I -_always_ knew you had talent, but I didn’t know you were so -_practical_.” - -There was something else that surprised Miss Waters. She couldn’t -comprehend how Rosaleen could be so cheerful, after what had happened. -But the part of Rosaleen’s brain which was concerned with Nick Landry -was shut, was sealed. She was dimly aware that some day she would have -to open that door, and examine and comprehend what lay behind it. She -knew that Grief was shut in there, and frightful Disappointment. Knew -too that through that locked compartment lay the way to her heaven. But -she turned aside her head. She went another road. - -Cheerful and lively, her cheeks rosy with the winter air, she hurried -through the twilit street, up the steps of Miss Waters’ old-fashioned -house, and rang the bell. She waited a long time for an answer: she rang -again, and still must wait. The flat was on the first floor; standing on -the stoop she tried to peer in at the front window, but, unaccountably, -the shade was pulled down. She rang once more, almost without hope, sure -that Miss Waters must have gone out for a few moments; but this time the -door clicked violently, and she entered. Miss Waters was standing at her -own front door; she was dressed in a black lace tea gown, with a black -jet butterfly in her fluffy white hair; she looked strangely elegant and -exalted. And in a voice trembling with excitement, she seized Rosaleen’s -hands. - -“Many happy returns of the day!” she cried. - -“Oh! It was sweet of you to remember it was my birthday!” said Rosaleen, -touched almost to tears by the festive dress. - -Miss Waters gently pulled her inside the door. - -“Now!” she said. - -And if she hadn’t a surprise party for Rosaleen! - -The shades were all down, the curtains drawn, and candles lighted in the -dusty, untidy little sitting room, and it had somehow a mysterious and -fascinating atmosphere. It seemed quite crowded with people too, and -when she entered they all came forward. There was only one whom she knew -at all; Miss Mell, a stout girl in spectacles, who had been Miss Waters’ -first pupil, years ago. She came with commendable regularity to visit -her old teacher every two or three weeks, and Rosaleen had more than -once seen her in the studio, sitting quite still and listening to Miss -Waters’ talking, a kindly and amused smile on her face. Then there was a -desperately lively girl who ran a tea room, and two agreeable young -English women, and a disagreeable, sneering old gentleman with a goatee, -whose name she never learned, nor whose business there. And an arrogant, -handsome girl with a violin, who played something for them. - -Assisted by Miss Mell, Miss Waters served them all with cake and wine -and sandwiches, and then brought forth cigarettes, for the conversation -which she expected to enjoy. - -“They’re all people who _do_ things!” she whispered to Rosaleen. - -They all conscientiously endeavoured to behave like a party of artists, -to smoke and to talk about “interesting” things. And they created a very -fair illusion. At any rate, it made Miss Waters happy. - -Miss Mell was very friendly, so friendly that Rosaleen couldn’t help -thinking Miss Waters must have told her her history. - -“We’re just setting up as artists,” she said, sitting down beside -Rosaleen. (They were the only ones not smoking.) “We’ve taken a studio -on the south side of the Square, Bainbridge and I. We’re moving in -to-morrow. And we want someone else to go in with us, to share a third -of the expense. It’ll amount to about twenty dollars a month, a third of -the rent, and the gas and telephone, and so on. And I wondered if you’d -like to come in with us?” - -“I should!” said Rosaleen. “But I couldn’t. I couldn’t afford it. I -haven’t got on my feet yet.” - -“We intend to work, you know. Hard! And I might be able to help you. -Fashions, isn’t it? I know a lot of the people--editors and so on. I -wish you would!” - -“But--I haven’t a cent!” said Rosaleen. “Nothing at all. If I can find a -job----” - -“In an office? It’s a pity to do that, if your work’s any good. You have -no time left for anything else, and you can’t get ahead. If you work -hard, and once get a decent start, you can do far better as a free -lance.” - -“I know it!” said Rosaleen. “But you’ve got to be able to live while -you’re _getting_ a start, and I----” - -But the handsome and arrogant young woman had begun to play her violin -again, and everyone became silent. It was music which had little to say -to Rosaleen; it was austere brain music; but she was enchanted to watch -the musician, the exquisite movement of her right arm and wrist, the -delicate interplay of the fingers of her left hand, the faint, fleeting -shadows that crossed her proud, fine face. She was, Rosaleen thought, -very like a picture Miss Amy had of Marie Antoinette riding in the -tumbrill. - -The piece was ended, and they all applauded. - -“That’s Bainbridge,” Miss Mell explained. “My pal, the one who has the -studio with me. She’s absolutely a genius.” - -Rosaleen regarded her with undisguised admiration. - -“I wish I could come with you!” she said, regretfully. - - -II - -Miss Mell and Miss Bainbridge were in that state of exhaustion in which -any sort of rest or pause is fatal. They had agreed to go on working -until they were really “settled,” with everything unpacked and neat. -Enthusiasm had entirely gone now; they were working doggedly, and, -secretly, without much hope of ever being done. Miss Bainbridge was on -her knees before a packing case filled with papers, drawings, music, and -that mass of letters, bills, and receipts one feels obliged to keep. -Miss Mell was feebly cleaning out the hearth, which was quite full of -the debris of the former tenants. - -There was a knock at the door, and they both called out, “Come in!” but -without interest. - -It was Miss Waters and Rosaleen. Miss Waters beckoned mysteriously to -Miss Mell, and they vanished into the back room. - -“Have you got your third person for the studio yet?” Miss Waters -enquired, anxiously. - -Miss Mell shook her head. - -“Then you can have Rosaleen!” cried Miss Waters, with triumph. “I’m so -glad, for your sake, and for her sake. It’s an _ideal_ arrangement!” - -And, seeing that Miss Mell looked only polite and not enthusiastic, she -went on: - -“You will just love that child! She has the disposition of an angel. -Never a cross or disagreeable word. And after all she’s been through!” - -“Yes,” said Miss Mell. “She seems very nice. We’ll be glad to have her.” - -“You see,” Miss Waters went on, in a whisper. “Yesterday, not an hour -after you’d left the house, a letter came for her from that beastly -woman I told you about--that Amy Humbert. And in it, my dear, was a -cheque for _five hundred_ dollars. It seems that the _nice_ sister had -told her on her deathbed to give that to Rosaleen when she was -twenty-one. She wrote--this Amy woman, I mean--that she wasn’t legally -obliged to give it to Rosaleen, but that she felt it was a moral -obligation, and that she always tried to do what was right, and more -like that. _You_ know the sort of person, Dodo! Well!... The poor child -was wild with joy.... And I advised her to come with you, if it could be -done. Five hundred dollars will keep her for a long time, if she’s -careful, and she ought to be earning a good living long before it’s -gone. Don’t you think so?” - -“Yes, I should think so,” said Miss Mell, thoughtfully. - -“Then I’ll tell her!” said Miss Waters, and hastened into the big room, -where Rosaleen stood, looking sheepishly about her. Miss Bainbridge had -discouraged her attempts at conversation with no great gentleness and -the chairs were all filled with things, so that she couldn’t even sit -down. - -“It’s all right!” cried Miss Waters. “I _am_ so glad!” - -“Look round and see how you like it,” said Miss Mell, and they did. - -The place seemed to them the very ideal of a studio. It was a dark old -room on the south side of the Square, thoroughly dirty and almost past -cleaning. There were plenty of mice and other more intolerable vermin, -and a musty smell that no airing could banish. But, to compensate, more -than to compensate, was the View, the Outlook, the sight of scrawny -little Washington Square Park and a glimpse up Fifth Avenue through the -Arch. Every visitor they ever had later on admired this view. - -It had just the right sort of furnishings, too, left intact by the two -former girl artists who were subletting it. Big wicker chairs and little -feeble tables, a rug, small, dingy and expensive, a screen, a battered -and stained drawing table, candles with “quaint” shades striped purple -and yellow. And pieces of hammered brass which should have gleamed from -corners but which did not gleam because they were too dirty and the -corners were so very dark that nothing within them was visible. The -place had altogether an aimless air, a look of being one part work room -and three parts play room; it was frivolous in a solemn, pretentious -sort of way, neither pretty nor convenient. - -But to Rosaleen an enchanted spot, something which seemed to her more -like home, dearer to her than any other place in the world. She loved -it! - -“I’d like to help,” she said. “What shall I do first?” - -“The back room,” said Enid. “Otherwise we’ll never get to bed to-night.” - -Rosaleen lifted the curtain and went into the back room where they were -all to sleep and to do their cooking. A forlorn place, overrun with -roaches, and containing two cots, a filthy gas stove, an old sink red -with rust, and a dreadful mouldy little thing that had once been an -ice-box. There was no window, no light except the gas high overhead. It -was depressing, hideous, highly unwholesome, with an air of abandoned -domesticity terribly distressing to Rosaleen. She couldn’t endure the -thought of food being prepared and cooked in that dark and dirty place. -But the others didn’t care at all. - -They had got themselves some sort of lunch there before Rosaleen’s -arrival; the greasy plates still stood by the sink. - -“I’ll make you some tea,” she said, pitying their grimy and -back-breaking labour. - -She scrubbed out a rusty little kettle and set it on to boil; then she -began to wash the dishes and to clean the cluttered, dusty shelf and to -set out on it the provisions lying about in bags and boxes. She opened -the little ice-box, devoid of ice and smelling most vilely, and saw in -there a loaf of bread and an opened tin of milk. - -“I wouldn’t _use_ that ice-box if I were you!” she called out, -anxiously. “It doesn’t seem--nice.” - -“All right!” Miss Mell answered, soothingly. - -She made tea and brought it in on the lid of a box for a tray. But it -was very poor, cheap tea and it smelt like straw. - -“I don’t think it’s a very good brand,” said Rosaleen. “Why don’t you -try Noxey’s?” - -Miss Bainbridge looked up from her third cup. - -“Look here!” she said. “My idea is that you should do all that sort of -thing. We can’t and won’t. Mell, give her the money and let her buy -everything.... And you’ll see we always have everything we need, won’t -you? Things for breakfast, and so on? Dinner I suppose we’ll take -outside. I will, anyway. You’d better go out now, I think. First look -and see what we need, coffee, rolls, all the proper things. And wood: it -would be nice to start a fire here this evening. We didn’t know where to -get any.” - -Rosaleen went, but she was not too well pleased with the tone of her new -companion. And still less did she like her contemptuous indifference to -Miss Waters, when she popped in later on to see if she could help. She -was by nature resigned and patient, and her training had accentuated -this; on her own behalf she would have endured a great deal from Miss -Bainbridge. But she had a loyalty for her friends that was fanatical. -Her heart had ached for her poor old friend, with her well-meaning -sprightliness quashed. When she had gone, when she had called a -quavering and gay “Au revoir!” from the foot of the stairs, Rosaleen had -turned and resolutely faced the arrogant Miss Bainbridge. - -“I----” she began. “I’ll ask you please--not to talk like that to Miss -Waters.” - -Her mouth was set grimly; she looked at that moment rather like her -mother. - -“Why?” asked Miss Bainbridge, coolly. - -“She’s--she’s old, for one thing.” - -“Old enough to die. No, Miss-What’s-Your-Name, I can’t be sentimental -about your rather awful old friend. And we don’t want her bothering us -here. The sooner she finds it out, the better. If you won’t give her a -hint, I will.” - -“No,” said Rosaleen, “I won’t.... And I won’t let you.” - -“What!” cried Miss Bainbridge. “You won’t let me? Is that what you said? -How do you propose to stop me?” - -“Well,” said Rosaleen. “I--I suppose I _can’t_ stop you. But I can go -away and not hear you. And I will.” - -“Good-bye!” said Miss Bainbridge. - -Miss Mell intervened. - -“See here, Enid, my child, this won’t do! You mustn’t offend Rosaleen. -Don’t be too much of a genius!” - -“There’s no reason for her to be offended. She’s not personally -responsible for Miss Waters. I’ve simply put my foot down about the old -imbecile----” - -“_But_ the studio belongs to all three of us,” said Miss Mell. “And -Rosaleen and I want Miss Waters. It’s two against one.” - -Miss Bainbridge had got up and was looking at them with an ugly, -narrowed glance. But Miss Mell continued her unpacking, and Rosaleen, -instead of quailing, met her look quite calmly. She couldn’t do much -with _them_.... - -She made a real effort to control that unbridled temper, to subdue that -fierce pride that could endure no slightest contradiction. She saw, as -she could always see, where her own best interest lay; that if she -wished to get on with these comrades, she must make concessions. - -“Very well,” she said. “Have her, if you want.” - -Rosaleen was not to be outdone in magnanimity. - -“I don’t want you to be bothered,” she said. “I’ll try to keep her from -interrupting your work the least bit. It’s only--if you please won’t be -rude to her.... Because she’s really very nice.” - -“But can’t you _see_!” cried Miss Bainbridge, with a sort of despair. -“I’m not like you. If I’m surrounded by mushy, stupid, jabbering people, -it--harms me! If I were kind to people like that, I’d ruin myself. You -hear about people being killed with kindness. Well, a great many more -people are killed--or destroyed--by _being_ kind. No one who amounts to -anything can be so damn _kind_. It’s often necessary to be cruel; and -it’s _always_ necessary to be indifferent. My job is to paint--to the -very best of my ability. It doesn’t matter how Miss Waters feels. The -world isn’t going to be any better or any worse for _her_ feelings.” - -Rosaleen reflected for some time. Then she spoke, thoughtfully and -firmly: - -“I guess Art isn’t as important as all that!” she said. - - - - -CHAPTER TWO - - -I - -The next afternoon they were all settled peacefully at work. They had -agreed to give up the idea of getting all in order first; they had -decided that they would do a little every day. - -Miss Mell was at work on an oil painting representing a white tiled -bathroom in which sat a heavenly fair young mother undressing a baby on -her lap, while near her were playing two misty, wistful little children -in bathgowns. In the air, over their heads, was a huge tin of talcum -powder, and beneath the picture were the words--“THAT COM’FY, SILKY, -CUDDLY FEELING WHICH ONLY FEATHERBLO POWDER CAN GIVE.” - -It was an order; she had enough commissions ahead to keep her busy for -months. She made it her business to suit her clients and their public; -if she had any tastes of her own, she set them aside. She had good sense -and shrewdness and no illusions of her own greatness. She wished to earn -a living by drawing, because she was fond of it and did it fairly well. -She never used the word “Art,” never expressed an aesthetic opinion. The -advertising agency for which she did most of her work considered her in -all things perfect and especially created to fill their wants. - -Miss Bainbridge was stippling the background of a little pen and ink -sketch--a bizarre thing which she was going to try on a brand new art -magazine. It was a woman, nude except for an immense black cloak -sprinkled with white stars which floated from her shoulders. She stood -alone on an immense stage with a background of black dots; and before -and below her was a swimming sea of eyes. She called it “Failure.” - -Rosaleen too was working, but neither contentedly nor successfully. The -more she saw of the others, the less she thought of herself. They worked -with such industry, hour after hour. They didn’t seem to have the -slightest trace of her fatal desire for distraction. After she had been -drawing for an hour or so, she always became intolerably restless, so -that even washing dishes was a relief.... By the side of Enid Bainbridge -she felt as some poor little clergyman, struggling incessantly to feed -and clothe his family, sick with cares and worries of this world, might -feel by the side of Saint Paul. Enid worshipped her god with a single -heart. Not for money, not for praise, not for any conceivable reward, -would she do anything but her best. Even her ruthlessness, her -selfishness, had in them something sublime. She was the priestess, -sacrificing all things on her altar. Rosaleen, while disagreeing with -her as to the relative importance of art in life, nevertheless venerated -her devotion. - -She wanted very much to ask their opinion of the design she had just -made, but she didn’t venture to interrupt them. She regarded them -covertly; Miss Mell in her gingham apron, with her calm, bespectacled -face cheerfully intent on her painting; Enid Bainbridge bending over her -drawing with desperate intensity.... She had beautiful hair, Rosaleen -observed, and she knew how to dress it. - -She got up and crossed the room, very quietly, so as not to shake the -floor, and sat down before the hearth to bait a mouse-trap. The place -was overrun with mice; they had disturbed her horribly the night before. - -And suddenly the industrious silence was broken by a tremendous knock at -the door. - -“_Come_ in!” called Miss Mell, in her cheerful, encouraging voice. - -The door opened, so widely that it slammed against the wall, and in -walked an enormously fat man, with a swarthy face, an upturned mustache -and a monocle dangling by a broad black ribbon. He was dressed with -extreme care, with well-creased trousers, a fastidious necktie, and -fawn-coloured spats; but the greater part of him was enveloped in a -flowing grey linen smock. - -They all stared at him, astonished; he was so extraordinary. He stared -at them. - -“I heard,” he said, “that there were three little female artists up -here, and I came in to look them over, to see if they were pretty and -interesting, or not. I live downstairs, my children, and my name is -Lawrence Iverson.” - -“I’ve seen some of your work,” said Enid, carelessly. “In the Kremoth -Galleries. Rather good.” - -He looked critically at Enid, but she met his glance with one quite as -cool and appraising. - -“Who are _you_?” he asked. “To call my work ‘rather good’?” - -“No one much, _just yet_,” she answered. - -He crossed the room and fixing his monocle, examined her work. - -“Not even ‘rather good,’” he said. “Clever--cheaply clever. Trick -stuff--all in one dimension. Worthless.” - -“No, it isn’t,” she contradicted. “It’s what I mean it to be, anyway. It -expresses what I want it to. Now, a thing like that ‘Idols’ you did is -what I call a failure. You had something you wanted to express, and you -didn’t. It didn’t mean anything.” - -“My God! Young woman, I never mean anything.... But you’re the perfect -school marm ‘doing art.’ You’re concerned with ideas, because you have a -brain, a little tiny one, but no soul. You don’t know what beauty is. -What, you girl, does a tree _mean_? What does a lovely arm _mean_? I -give my pictures names because people won’t buy them without names. But -the names are all damn nonsense, just to make the fools talk. For -instance, I will conceive a group, of perfect, heart-breaking harmony, -three figures in attitudes which form a complete and exquisite -design.... You see that sort of thing once in a while, without -forethought. I saw, the other day, a woman bending down from the top of -a flight of steps to take a bag a grocer’s boy was reaching up to her. -They made the most beautiful combination of curves God ever allowed.... -_You’re_ not bad looking....” - -Enid paid no attention to this compliment. She frowned. - -“You’re wrong,” she said, after a while. “I’m not that sort--the school -marm.... But you _did_ have an idea in that picture of yours. I think -you wanted it to be ironic and terrible. And it wasn’t. It was only -severe. You missed what you aimed at. But I _don’t_ care about -ideas....” - -“Keep quiet, sensitive, egotistic, female thing!” said Lawrence Iverson. -“Why do you care what I think about you? I don’t care--I couldn’t -possibly care--what you thought about me. Now to show you--what mood are -you trying to get in your little picture there? Explain it! If it means -something, what does it mean? Eh?” - -“It’s the sensation of an actress who knows she’s failing----” - -“Oh bosh! Oh rot! Oh stale, idiotic futility! So we have here the -portrait of a sensation! Well, here is what you want.” - -He took Enid by the arm and pulled her to her feet; then he sat down on -her chair and began to draw with her pen, in strong, fine, sure lines, -the figure of a woman, in a strange attitude, half defiant, half -cringing. - -“There’s your silly idea,” he said. “Without any black dots or white -stripes.... You can’t draw. No woman can. But it’s pretty to see them -try. I approve. I approve of you all. Even the trying will give you some -faint comprehension of what I accomplish. But now, my dear little souls, -put down your work and let us become acquainted!” - - -II - -“Wasn’t he awful?” said Rosaleen, with a sigh of relief, when he had -gone. - -“Oh, I don’t know!” said Miss Mell. “That’s only his way. He’s really a -very well known artist.... What are you laughing at, Enid?” - -“At him,” she answered. “And his babyishness. And his airs. Why, he’s -crazy about women. You can see _that_. I’ll have him eating out of my -hand in a week or two.” - - -III - -But the next morning when Miss Mell opened the door to put a bundle of -rubbish out into the hall she found there a neat little package, and in -it a sketch of Rosaleen standing with the mouse-trap in her hand, -startled and puzzled. - -“To you!” he had written. “Because you look just as a little female -artist ought to look. All soul. Of course, you haven’t any soul. But I -will help you to play being an artist, because of your lovely soulful -artist eyes.” - -“Hum!” said Enid. “She’d better not have that. It won’t do to let her -get conceited. She’s too useful.” - -And she tore it into pieces and threw it into the fire. - -“My dear!” cried Miss Mell. “I don’t think that was right!” - -“Rot!” said Enid. “He’s simply trying to show that he’s not attracted by -me. Can’t you see?” - -“What I can’t see,” said Miss Mell, thoughtfully. “_Is_--which is the -most unbearably conceited--you or Lawrence Iverson?” - -“He is,” said Enid, “because he’s older. It gets worse, always.” - -He came up again that afternoon; and, though they hadn’t spoken of it, -they were all three quite sure that he would come, and were waiting for -him. - -He went over to Miss Mell. - -“Your work,” he said, “is entirely hopeless. And you don’t care. You’re -really the cleverest of the lot. You know what you’re doing. You’re -earning a living.... But I can’t look at it. It’s too obscene.” - -She smiled good-humouredly, without looking up from the picture of a -small boy and a big package of coffee “For My Mudder.” - -“And you,” he said to Enid. “You’re so infernally puffed up with pride -in your work and your fine body that you can’t see the truth. Nothing -but crazy visions. What you ought to be is an artist’s model. That is -what you were intended for.” - -“That’s a part that wouldn’t suit you very well,” she answered, looking -at his great, ungainly bulk. - -“Cheap!” he said. “Cheap wit. Cheap impudence. My skeleton is largely -covered with fat, which is a source of great discomfort to me. And it -seems humourous to you. Very well; that is Enid. Now this sweet child, -Rosaleen, is promising. She is innocent, naïve. She sees what is, -because she is rather too stupid to imagine what is not. I am going to -teach her.” - -“To see what is not, I suppose,” said Enid. “Go ahead, then. Of course -you’ll spoil her. She was useful before. She used to cook the meals and -go to market and sweep and mend our clothes. Now she’ll want to _draw_.” - -“So she shall draw! She shall be my Galatea. I shall create an artist -with my own breath.” - -He sat down beside the alarmed and confused Rosaleen and began to -instruct her. He was wonderful. He explained with exquisite lucidity; he -was patient, he was kind. But Rosaleen was too nervous to profit by his -teaching. Her hand trembled pitiably. - -“Very well, then, my dear,” he said, kindly, “I’ll wait until you’re -more used to me. But in the meantime, don’t touch a pencil. Every -stroke you draw is a step on the road to perdition.” - -He patted her shoulder and left her, and began walking up and down the -room. - -“Don’t!” said Enid, impatiently. “It shakes the floor.... Sit down and -smoke.” - -“I don’t smoke.” - -“Why don’t you work?” - -“Still the school marm. You imagine you can ‘be an artist’ by sitting -over your work all your life. You haven’t the wit to see that art is the -outcome of experience----” - -“No, it isn’t. Unless it’s your ancestors’ experience. It comes with you -when you’re born. Art is the result of impressions----” - -“And how do you get impressions, woman, except through experience?” - -“Some people can get a vivid impression by looking at a blank wall. It’s -inside, not outside. What you call experience is nothing but -distractions, interruptions....” - -“Young woman, what _I_ call experience _is_ experience. I’m not a timid -female thing.” - -Then he began to boast--of how he had lived, how he had felt, what he -had seen. He swaggered amazingly, pacing up and down the room, stroking -his little black mustache, continually fixing his monocle with a -tremendous grimace. Rosaleen was lost in bewilderment. She couldn’t for -the life of her tell whether he was joking or serious, whether his talk -was brilliant or idiotic. She could get no clue from Miss Mell, for she -was still working and apparently paying no heed. Enid’s face had its -usual fierce and scornful look, her voice its usual impatient vigour. -She longed to have this man interpreted. - -She waited until Enid had gone out to the theatre that evening, and -then, when she and Miss Mell were alone together in their candle-lighted -studio, with a fire burning and a great air of peace and comfort, she -said: - -“Isn’t that Mr. Iverson--queer?” - -“Not so queer as he pretends to be,” she answered, which gave Rosaleen -very little help. - -“Don’t you think he’s--sort of like Enid?” - -“Oh, mercy, no!” cried Miss Mell. “What makes you think that, Rosaleen?” - -Rosaleen couldn’t quite explain. - -“They’re both so--they’re such--they talk----” - -“They’re both very rude, if that’s what you mean. But Enid’s rude -because she’s so honest, and Iverson’s rude as a pose. He’s a famous -poseur.” - -That was Greek to Rosaleen. Miss Mell saw her puzzled frown and -expatiated. - -“I’ve met him before,” she said. “He doesn’t remember me, though. I’ve -seen him two or three times. And I’ve heard a great deal about him. He’s -a remarkable man--in some ways. But a poseur.... He affects that -bluntness, but he’s not sincere.... I don’t think anyone could be less -like Enid. To begin with, he hasn’t any self-control. They say he has -the most terrific temper. He quarrels with everyone. And he’s perfectly -reckless; he doesn’t care what he does. I’ve heard the most -extraordinary stories about him. He’s like a madman. And yet very -greedy. He runs after people with money. While Enid--but you must know -Enid a little by this time. She’s never reckless. She always knows what -she’s doing, and she’d rather cut her heart out than do anything to -injure her career. And as for toadying, she _couldn’t_. She cares no -more for money than a baby.” - -“You think a lot of Enid, don’t you?” - -“Yes, I do!” said Miss Mell. - -There was a pause. - -“Well--do you like--him?” asked Rosaleen. - -“No,” said Miss Mell. “Not much. And don’t you, either!” - -But Rosaleen couldn’t help liking him! - -He didn’t come up the next afternoon. Rosaleen, going out on an errand, -had of course to pass the door of his studio on the floor below, and -from within she heard a most pleasant sound of feminine voices, gay, -light, well-bred voices. On her way in again, she had paused for just a -moment outside that door, and the hidden festivity was still going on; -she heard the clink of silver on china, and those nice voices again. -Later on, from the window upstairs, she saw a motor car glide up to the -door in the dusk and stand there waiting, until finally two exquisitely -dressed women came out and entered it, escorted gallantly by Lawrence -Iverson. They drove off, leaving him standing bare-headed in the street. - - -IV - -Miss Waters had become terribly excited when Rosaleen told her. - -“My _dear_! Not _Lawrence Iverson_! Right in the same _house_! Isn’t -that marvellous! Now tell me all about him!” - -Rosaleen tried, but not very successfully. - -“But come and see him for yourself,” she said. “He’s sure to come in -again some afternoon soon.” - -“Oh, no!” said Miss Waters, hastily. “I don’t think I will, dear. It -would make me too nervous.” - -After that she wasn’t seen so often at the studio. She would dart in -during the morning, perhaps leaving a pupil at her home, and chat with -Rosaleen for a little while, but always on edge, ready to flit away. It -made her very happy to observe the happiness of her favourite. And she -alone was able to comprehend the things that made up that happiness. She -could understand the joy that seized Rosaleen whenever she had been out -on a frosty morning, when she crossed the snow-covered Square and -entered the room with its crackling fire and saw the two girls working -in absolute quiet. She loved even the careless and shiftless -housekeeping, the things brought in from the delicatessen, salads in -paper boats, cold sliced meats, buns, rolls, cakes. They rarely cooked -anything; they went out every night to dinner, either to an Italian -table d’hote or to the tea room in the basement; when Enid wasn’t with -them, they always asked Miss Waters, and frequently the two English -girls who had a dressmaking establishment near by would join them. They -were nice, jolly, sophisticated girls and Rosaleen liked them. She used -to go now and then to their place, which they call “FINE FEATHERS,” and -they would give her “pointers” about making her own clothes. - -The tea room in the basement was kept by the desperately lively girl who -had been at the birthday party; she was from the Middle West, and she -was blessed with the name of Esther Gosorkus. She had enormous, babyish -blue eyes and oily brown hair always done with a wide fillet of blue -ribbon. She was enthusiastic and friendly and agreeable beyond belief; -she adored everyone. Yet she was able to charge hair-raising prices for -her food, and for the Antiques which she also sold down there. Enid -always called her The Fool. - -“She can’t be a fool,” said Miss Mell. “She’s making pots of money.” - -“Plenty of fools can do that,” said Enid. “Set a fool to catch a fool! -Of course! They prey on one another.” - -Miss Gosorkus’ connection with Art was vague; still she wore smocks and -went to studio parties; she talked about the Artists’ Colony, and -considered that she belonged to it. She used to come up to the studio -rather often, and had to talk to Rosaleen, because the other two gave -her no encouragement. But Rosaleen thought her jolly and rather nice, -and when she went out marketing, used to stop in at the Tea Room and -Antique Shop and buy sandwiches for lunch, or if there were something -palatable in course of preparation, she would buy three portions and -bring them upstairs to her friends. Not very often, though; for she was -fastidious about food, and Miss Gosorkus’ methods seemed to her more -than questionable at times. She had to see it all done by Miss Gosorkus -and the coloured cook before she would buy. - -The mornings generally fled by in work of this unartistic nature, in -marketing, in making up the cots, washing the dishes, and “attending to -things.” After lunch was eaten and cleared away she would always sit -down resolved to work earnestly, but often Lawrence Iverson came in, and -while he was there, she dared not draw a line. - - -V - -Perhaps the very foundation of her satisfaction with life lay in -Lawrence Iverson’s kindness. He would come swaggering up and talk -outrageously, unpardonably to Enid, look with a groan over Miss Mell’s -shoulder and call her work “filth for the hungry hogs.” But he would -look at Rosaleen’s dress designs and simpering fashion plates quite -seriously, and advise her, with wonderfully practical advice. - -What most touched her though was his niceness to Miss Waters. The poor -old thing was trapped one day, and couldn’t get away; had to stand there -in all her preposterousness, in her fur coat and her battered hat, and -allow that most elegant and critical artist to be presented to her. -Rosaleen was frightened, thinking of Enid’s rudeness. But Iverson was -_not_ rude; on the contrary he was very polite, very friendly. He talked -to her about Paris, and she was transported to the Seventh Heaven. Just -to recall the names of the streets! (She didn’t know very much else of -the city.) She went off with Rosaleen almost idiotic with pleasure. - -“Lawrence,” said Enid, when they had gone, “you make me _sick_!” - -“Why?” he enquired, twirling his little mustache. - -“You’re a regular, old-fashioned stage villain,” she said. “All the -trouble you’re taking--all the elaborate plots--to get that silly little -kid.” - -“Hold your tongue!” he said, flushing angrily. “Let’s have no more of -your beastly female obsessions.” - - -VI - -Two days later he came upstairs unexpectedly early, before lunch, and -found Rosaleen peeling mushrooms in the dark back room. It made him -furious; he swore at Enid and Miss Mell and called them beastly -exploiters. - -“Rosaleen,” he said. “Come downstairs with me and work.” - -“Don’t you go!” said Enid. “He’s a villain. He has evil designs upon -you.” - -Rosaleen turned crimson. - -“Oh, go along!” said Miss Mell. “It’ll do you good, Rosaleen. You can -take care of yourself.” - -“Of course she can!” said Enid. “All the little burgesses know how to do -that. Lawrence, if you want to love Rosaleen, you’ll have to pay for her -mushrooms all the days of your life!” - - - - -CHAPTER THREE - -I - - -He took her by the hand and led her down the dark stairs, and flung open -the door of his room ceremoniously. An immense room, which ran from the -front to the back of the house. It was bare, plain, neat as a pin, no -draperies, no artistic ornaments. And yet it had a fine air of luxury. -There was a splendid wood fire in the grate, and before it stood a -waggon with a silver tea service, brightly polished. Every one of the -chairs, ranged severely against the walls, was rare and beautiful; the -rug on the floor was a fine Chinese one. The walls were bare, not a -single picture to be seen but the one he was completing, on an easel -near the window. - -He was wonderfully polite. He settled Rosaleen at a little table and -brought her all the materials she required. - -“Now, my dear child,” he said. “Just what is it you want to do?” - -“Well,” said Rosaleen. “I’m afraid I’ve got to think about making -money.” - -“Ah! Who hasn’t? Very well, then, so you shall!” - -He encouraged her very much. She sat at the little table working -patiently all the afternoon. They hardly spoke. He was at work on his -own canvas, but he took time now and then to go over to Rosaleen and -make a suggestion or a correction. She had never worked so well before; -the finished figures delighted her. - -When the light began to fail, he pushed the easel into a corner and -stretched. - -“Now, nice Rosaleen, make tea!” he said. - -She did her best, but tea-making was an exotic art for her; she -understood nothing of its possibilities. - -“Dear creature!” he cried. “I don’t want a concentrated essence of tea!” - -He took the charge from her, and began very deftly to do it himself. -Then he handed her a cup of delicate, fragrant, clear amber liquid -(which she privately considered much too weak). She drank it dutifully, -disappointed that there wasn’t so much as a cracker or a piece of bread -to go with it. - -“Shall I wash the tea things for you?” she asked, when they had -finished. - -He smiled. - -“I have a person for that, thank you. No; let’s talk instead. We’ve -never had a talk alone.... Won’t you tell me something about yourself?” - -With her release from the Humbertian atmosphere, Rosaleen had lost her -former humility. None of these people would care in the least who her -mother was. She wasn’t ashamed now. She was rather glad of a chance to -place herself, to explain that she wasn’t “Miss Humbert.” She told him -candidly, and he seemed to hang on her words. Indeed, his interest -became embarrassing, for after she had ceased to speak, he still -continued to stare at her with a curious intensity. Somehow his face -looked _different_.... She stirred uneasily. - -“I’d better be going, I think,” she said. “They’ll----” - -But he stopped her as she was about to get up, with a hand on her arm. - -“No!” he said. “No!...” - -“Why?” she asked. - -His great staring eyes made her terribly uneasy. - -“I’ll really have to go,” she said. “It’s late.” - -He let her rise this time, but rose himself as well, and suddenly caught -her in his arms. - -She was for an instant too much astounded to struggle. But as he tried -to kiss her, she gave him a vigourous push. - -“Let me go!” she cried. “What’s the _matter_ with you?” - -He couldn’t delude himself that she was acting; he could see too plainly -the horrified incredulity in her eyes. He saw that he had made a -mistake. - -He released her at once. - -“Rosaleen!” he said. “I--apologise!” - -She turned away without answering and went to the door. But he went in -front of her. - -“Don’t be unreasonable!” he said. “I’m sorry. I can’t say any more, can -I? I didn’t mean anything. Shake hands and say you forgive me!” - -Rosaleen shook her head. - -“I can’t!” she said, with a faint sob. “You don’t--you _couldn’t_ -know--how I hate anything of that sort.... And _you_!... I didn’t think -it was _in_ you.” - -“It’s _in_ all men,” said Lawrence, gloomily. - -“No, it isn’t!” said Rosaleen, thinking of that one quite perfect man -she had lost. - -“I tell you it is!” said Lawrence, beginning to grow angry. “What do you -know about men?” - -Rosaleen didn’t answer, but he saw a tear running down her cheek. - -“Bah!” he shouted. “Don’t be tragic, for God’s sake! Why should you make -such a row about _that_? You’re none the worse, are you, in health, -morals or purse, because I tried to kiss you?” - -“Yes, I am!” said she, stubbornly. “I’ve lost something I thought a lot -of.... My confidence in----” - -“Don’t say confidence in me! I won’t allow women to have confidence in -me. It’s insulting. Go on, if you want to! Go upstairs and cry and -snivel and have a scene with your two precious friends.” - -She was half way up the stairs when he came bounding after her. - -“Rosaleen!” he whispered. “Please! Be friends again! I’m sorry. But I’m -sure you understand!” - -Against the ancient flattery of that appeal she had no defense. She took -the big hand he proffered. - -“All right!” she said, with her absurd, her heavenly benevolence. - - -II - -After that he behaved very well. He was a most gallant and generous -friend, and a valuable one. In spite of his swagger, his bombastic talk, -in spite of his fatness and foppishness, he had undeniably a grand air, -a sort of magnificence. He saw to it that she was well treated by the -others, and that she had an advantage over them. It lay in his hands to -bestow prestige, and he did so. She became tenfold more important, more -significant. He knew how to manage this. He gave Rosaleen privileges -which he permitted to no one else. Enid and Dodo were very rarely -invited into his studio, but Rosaleen worked there two or three days a -week. - -He hadn’t gone so far as to be seen in public with her, though. He -didn’t even take her to his own exhibition. He was a conspicuous and, in -certain circles, a well-known figure; he was very careful. He sometimes -gave her tickets for private views, and so on, or even for theatres and -concerts. He sent up chocolates and flowers from time to time, and the -foreign art journals to which he subscribed. But he drew a line. He -never asked Rosaleen into his studio when there was anyone there. More -than once when she had come down as she had been told to do the day -before, and knocked at his door, he would put out his head and stare at -her through his monocle. - -“Not to-day!” he would say. “Wait till I’m alone.” - -Enid used to jeer at this. - -“Sent home?” she would say, when Rosaleen returned so promptly. But -Rosaleen refused to resent this. - -“Why in the world should he introduce me to his friends?” she asked. “He -only knows me in a--oh, a sort of business way.” - -“He doesn’t think you’re good enough,” said Enid. - -“Maybe I’m not,” said Rosaleen, unruffled. “I dare say he knows lots of -people who wouldn’t want to be bothered with me.” - -Not Enid nor Lawrence, nor anyone about her could understand her -attitude. They thought her humble, lacking in pride. Even Miss Mell -advised her to assert herself more. Whereas it _wasn’t_ really humility, -or lack of pride or self-respect; it was her exquisite Irish sense of -propriety. She knew exactly where she belonged. And she didn’t hesitate -to place Lawrence higher than herself. He was an incomparably greater -artist, he was much more important, much more clever. As for his moral -worth, she didn’t take that into consideration. She never had made, she -never would make, the least effort to judge the morals of other people. -She had quite forgiven him his unique outburst, both because he was an -artist and outside the pale, and because she liked him. She had more -indulgence for him, in fact, than she would have had for her hero, Nick -Landry. No doubt because she didn’t expect very much from Lawrence. She -went ahead, enjoying his companionship without the least distrust. - -He couldn’t have been nicer. To please her he even went so far as to go -with her to Miss Waters’ studio. He had met Rosaleen in the street, on -her way there. - -“She’d be so awfully pleased!” Rosaleen told him. “She admires your work -so much.” - -He was good-humoured that afternoon, and lazy, indisposed for work; so -he turned and walked along with her, like an opulent foreign prince in -his impressive fur-lined overcoat and his soft grey felt hat pulled down -over his swarthy brow. - -He didn’t stay long. Once in the street again he turned on Rosaleen with -a scowl. - -“Why didn’t you _tell_ me?” he thundered, in a voice so loud that all -the passersby turned to stare. - -“Tell you what?” Rosaleen asked, frightened. - -“What the woman did in there? Why didn’t you tell me what blasphemous -crimes she committed? Good God! The woman should be flayed alive!” - -“Oh, don’t!” entreated Rosaleen. “Please don’t talk so loud--and please -don’t say horrible things about Miss Waters!” - -“Stop!” he said. “Never mention that name again!” - -Rosaleen was glad to escape from him that time, and she never did -mention Miss Waters’ name to him again. - - -III - -The time came inevitably when they felt the call to give a party. It was -almost simultaneous; they never knew quite whose idea it was. They were -all of them filled with enthusiasm, but it was more tremendous for -Rosaleen, because it was her first. - -They borrowed a phonograph from the “FINE FEATHERS” girls, and Miss Mell -seriously undertook to teach Rosaleen to dance. Every evening after -dinner Enid would put on a dance record and Miss Mell, pinning up her -skirt so that her feet could the better be observed, would steer -Rosaleen through the steps of fox-trot, one-step and waltz. Enid would -criticise. But even she admitted that Rosaleen had a gift. - -“It’s Irishness,” she said. “They’re all nice dancers, I notice; all -those downtrodden, suffering nations, Poles and Irish, and so on. Queer, -isn’t it?” - -The invitations circulated mysteriously and casually, and were as -casually accepted. But it was none the less a festivity which required -great preparations. Rosaleen bought a new dress and Miss Mell made over -an old one. But Enid refused to make any further concession than a new -blouse, to be worn with her everyday skirt. And yet, on the night of the -party, when she was dressed, she was amazing. It was a low cut blouse, -and quite thin enough to reveal the matchless lines of her shoulders, -the perfection of her supple arms, her lovely throat. And she wore a -pearl necklace, a genuine one, which she never explained. It was the -first time that Rosaleen had realised her striking beauty, or the full -extent of her arrogant charm. Even in her new dress, with her hair -arranged so prettily, she felt, for a moment, just a little miserable -beside Enid. - -Miss Mell was dumpy and unobtrusive and correct, and according to her -custom, completely covered by a large gingham apron until the last -minute. She and Rosaleen cooked the early dinner, but Rosaleen couldn’t -eat and she would hardly allow them to, either. She hurried them so -anxiously, so that she could get everything ready before the party came. -Enid sprinkled powdered wax on the floor, and Rosaleen and Miss Mell -pushed all the furniture back against the walls. Then they lighted all -the candles, under their purple and yellow shades; then on a table in a -corner they arranged their refreshments, salad, cake and sandwiches got -from Miss Gosorkus, and a bowl of punch. Miss Mell had oiled the -phonograph and bought some new records, and she instructed Rosaleen in -the art of manipulating it. - -“Be careful when you wind it up!” she cautioned. “Something’s wrong. It -rocks so. I’m afraid of its tipping off the table.” - -The preparations were completed very early, and the happy Rosaleen had -nothing to do but sit near the window to wait, where she could see the -lights glittering up Fifth Avenue, and the buses sailing to and fro. - -Presently Enid joined her, sat on the window sill, perfectly still, -perfectly silent. She didn’t even move when Lawrence came in, urbane and -indulgent, in evening dress. Rosaleen and Miss Mell welcomed him with -smiles; they were, and they were willing to show that they were, -tremendously flattered at his coming to their party. - -“I’ve brought some champagne,” he said. “It’s in the hall, in a pail of -ice.” - -“How _nice_!” said Miss Mell. - -He bowed politely. Then he turned his attention to Enid, sitting on the -window sill. - -“Well, my beauty!” he said, in his harsh voice, “Looking out there for a -new sweetheart?” - -Enid’s voice came, singularly flat and dispirited. - -“No,” she said. And after a pause. “I dare say I was looking for -God.... What an empty looking heaven, isn’t it?” - -“On the contrary. I hear it’s extraordinarily crowded with planets and -constellations and that sort of thing. And probably ghosts.” - -“Do you believe in ghosts--really?” - -“No, my dear; I have no fears.” - -“Fears!” cried Enid. “Fears!... I wouldn’t call it a _fear_. I’d call it -a hope.... Oh! Don’t I wish I could see a ghost! I’m--I’m always looking -for something like that. Something to show that we don’t end.” - -“Aha! You’re afraid of death, are you?” - -“No!” she said, impatiently. “Don’t you understand? I don’t care when or -how I go. I don’t care whether I become an angel or a devil, or a puff -of breath in a great god’s mouth. Or a ghost. So long as it doesn’t -_end_.” - -“It _does_ end,” said Lawrence. “Rest assured of that.” - -“Don’t you care?” - -“My dear creature, I shall never know it. I’ll never be conscious of -this highly unpleasant annihilation. It’s only the dread of it. And that -doesn’t exist if you refuse to think of it.” - -“But suppose there’s someone else you’re longing and longing to see -again?” - -“Now!” he cried, triumphantly. “Now we’re getting at the mystery of your -life. It’s a dead lover!” - -“Oh! You and your beastly obsession with lovers!” she cried, almost with -a sob. “It’s a--child’s ghost....” - -“Be thankful it’s out of this brutal, hostile world, then,” said -Lawrence. “Where’s Rosaleen? She lives in another nice little world, all -by herself.” - -“Perhaps hers is the real world,” said Enid. “I wish I could think so.” - - -IV - -It was a wonderful ecstatic evening, the sort Rosaleen expected of -artists. The studio was crowded, suffocatingly hot, filled with a joyful -young riot. Except for Lawrence, they were all young. There was Miss -Gosorkus and a man she had brought, there were the two English girls -with three of their countrymen, there was a male cousin of Miss Mell’s -and three young ships’ officers known to her, and two old friends from -her art school. There was a distrait young Frenchman desperately in love -with Enid, and a lot of other people who drifted in and out. There was a -terrific amount of noise; they were wilfully, exaggeratedly noisy; they -sang, shouted and stamped. The old phonograph blared its loudest, and -the couples danced as best they could in the crowd. They drank the punch -and the champagne and grew wilder and wilder. Rosaleen, astonished and -delighted, believed herself actually to be witnessing one of those -“orgies” so often mentioned in the papers as taking place in artists’ -studios. It was not till long, long afterward that she realised how -innocent, how decent, how happy it really was, how young.... - -At first she was rather ignored. Enid was so dazzling that she captured -all the strangers, and the rest of the crowd all knew Dodo Mell and went -to her in preference to Rosaleen. But, by the time the thing was in full -swing, she, too, had at last secured the exclusive attention of someone; -she, too, like Enid, like Devery, younger of the English girls, like the -two Art School girls, had a man standing at her side and admiring her -when he wasn’t dancing with her. She didn’t know his name or who he was, -but he was amusing and rather attractive; a curly-haired, black-eyed -young man, looking rather like a sprightly devil, with outstanding ears -which gave him a singularly alert air. - -Suddenly, almost of one accord, they all wearied of dancing. - -“Let’s go out somewhere,” said Rosaleen’s young man. It was the classic -suggestion, and they all agreed joyfully. - -“I’ll take you all to the Brevoort for supper,” said the magnificent -Lawrence. - -Rosaleen was passing about a basket of cigarettes, and she happened at -that instant to be standing at his elbow. And she said, with polite and -surprised joy: - -“How _nice_!” - -He turned and looked at her, fixed his monocle and stared at her. - -“I’d forgotten all about _you_!” he said. “What are _you_ doing?” - -“Having a lovely time!” she told him, with a smile. - -“You look very pretty,” he said. “Very sweet....” - -And she fancied, half ashamed of the fancy, that again his face changed -as it had done that afternoon in his studio. - -He bent his lordly head. - -“I want to speak to you!” he whispered. “Slip into the back room and -wait!” - -A little reluctant, but very curious, she did so; and for five very long -minutes stood in there, with the gas turned low, and the two cots piled -with imposing male overcoats and sticks, and the furs and wraps of the -girls. The sound of the music and the dancing feet made her impatient: -someone shouted “One more before we go! Put on a _good_ record, Enid!” -She really couldn’t have endured it much longer, if Lawrence hadn’t -come. But, though he had said he wanted to speak to her, he stood there -speechless, fingering his monocle, not even looking at her. At last he -said: - -“Er ... Rosaleen!... It occurred to me--wouldn’t you like to stop for -your Miss Waters?” - -She thought she had never heard a kinder, a more generous idea. - -“Why, yes, I _would_!” she said. “It’s very nice of you to think of -that!” - -“Then we’d better arrange this way. You go downstairs with the others, -but slip into my studio. The door’s open and it’s dark; no one will -notice you. Then I’ll make some excuse to get away from them, and I’ll -come back here with a taxi.” - -“A taxi! We won’t need a taxi. It’s only a step. And I don’t see why we -need to make such a secret of it all----” - -“Enid would make a row,” he said with a frown. “No; do it my way, if you -please!” - - -V - -The dawn was coming when the taxi drew up to the door. Lawrence got out, -helped Rosaleen to descend, and while he paid the enormous reckoning she -stood in the dim street, over which hung that strange air of suspense -which comes before the sunrise. The street lights still burned, but -against a palely clear sky; the sparrows in the park were beginning to -stir. - -Lawrence opened the front door with his key and they entered the dark -hall, musty with the smell of cooking, of paints. Outside his own door -he held out a hand and she took it; an immense, fat hand. - -“Now then, it’s all _right_, isn’t it?” he said, with exaggerated -heartiness. “No ill feeling, is there? We’re the best of friends?” - -“Oh, yes!” said Rosaleen, brightly, and in her mind added: - -“If only I can get away from you and never, never set eyes on you again -...!” - -A desolating weariness was upon her; her limbs were like lead as she -climbed the stairs. Her chief desire was not to wake Mell and -Bainbridge; the idea of having to talk to them, to open her lips even to -answer them, was intolerable. She had had her fill of talking that -night. - -For the sake of ventilation the girls always slept with the curtains -between the rooms drawn back and the studio windows open; and so it was -now. She could see them there in the back room, solemnly still, on their -cots, with the faint breeze of the sunrise blowing through the big room -and lifting a fine, cindery dust from the hearth. Rosaleen sat down near -the window and rested her head on her arms, on the broad sill. - -Now that the sun had got up, the whole thing began to assume the -character of a nightmare. Her tired brain began to confuse the memory of -Lawrence with the drawing of a gargoyle she had seen in his studio the -day before. In a blurred memory she seemed to see him as a sort of -monster who had for hours and hours been sitting by her side and -talking. Talking and talking and talking. And about what, do you -suppose, but to urge her to run away with him. She had said she _didn’t -want to_, but he had considered that of no importance. He had considered -it a matter for logic, for reasoning. He had tried to show her the -advantages; and when she persisted in saying that she didn’t want to, he -had become offensive and horrible. He had never had the faintest -intention of going after Miss Waters; the taxi, by his command, went -speeding through Central Park, up Riverside Drive, went on through -roads and streets unknown to her, while Lawrence talked, shouted, -bullied her. She had never imagined anything so horrible. And yet she -wasn’t afraid of him. Perhaps some feminine instinct informed her that a -talking man, like a barking dog, is not to be feared. - -And, quite suddenly, touched by some obscure impulse, he had become -sorry. He had called himself a brute and a beast; he said he must have -been mad, and she was privately inclined to agree with him. She didn’t -know that it was his theory that women are to be won by force, by -daring. With her, love could only be the outcome of sympathy. She could -only love a man because she liked him. But she was not so much angry at -Lawrence as disgusted and astonished. When he begged for her forgiveness -she gave it promptly, and hoped that this would be the end of this -immeasurably painful scene. But it was not enough. Nothing would do but -a reconciliation, and for this it appeared necessary to go to a road -house and have supper and more champagne. She sat at the table with him -in the crowded, noisy dining-room, while he acted the jovial host; she -had a constrained but polite smile for his pleasantries. She had been as -diplomatic with him as if he had been a lunatic. - -All the way home he had worshipped her as an angel. He said he wasn’t -fit to live in the same world with her.... - -And now, with the world awake, the sun shining, the streets alive, for -the first time since the wretched fiasco, Rosaleen began to weep for -young Landry. - - - - -CHAPTER FOUR - - -I - -She needn’t have worried; neither Enid nor Dodo Mell asked a single -question. Somewhere near ten o’clock Enid woke up and at once shook her -sleepy friend, who, after putting on her spectacles and a lavender -kimono, set to work to make coffee. And suddenly discovered Rosaleen -asleep in a chair in the studio. - -“Coffee, Rosaleen!” she called, cheerfully. - -She awoke with a start and sat up, pale and dishevelled, in her party -dress and slippers. But they showed no surprise. Breakfast was ready on -a trunk in the back room and they all sat down to it, the benign Dodo in -her kimono, Enid in a smock and petticoat, with her bare feet in mules, -and Rosaleen with her incongruously dissipated look. - -“_Nice_ rolls!” said Enid. “Where’d you get them, Rosaleen?” - -“A little new baker’s,” Rosaleen answered. - -Never had her friends seemed so charming, or a feminine world so -desirable. The coffee cheered her sad heart, and raised her spirits, and -after she had bathed and dressed, she lost all sense of fatigue. She -had, in fact, that false vigour one sometimes has after a sleepless -night, that sensation of being all mind and spirit and no body. - -“Ambrose is coming this afternoon!” called Miss Mell, suddenly, from her -drawing, to Rosaleen washing handkerchiefs in the rusty sink. - -“Who’s Ambrose?” she asked. - -“Oh, my dear, how cruel! Why, he’s the one who adored you so last night. -He’s my cousin.” - -Rosaleen recollected the young man like a sprightly devil, with the -curly hair and the outstanding ears. - -“I’d better tidy up the place then,” she said. “It’s awful.” - -“I’ll treat us all to cakes for tea,” said Dodo. “If you’ll get them, -Rosaleen?” - -“And there are two dead mice in the trap,” said Enid. “Better take them -out!” - -Rosaleen protested; this was an intolerable task. But Dodo and Enid -assured her that the mice would stay there until she removed them. - -“And every day it’ll be worse,” said Enid. - -So Rosaleen was obliged to drop the little victims into an empty cracker -box and throw them out of the window at the back of the hall. She -fetched the cakes and borrowed an extra cup from Miss Gosorkus. Then -she sat down listlessly. Her work was all in Lawrence’s studio, and she -had nothing to do. - - -II - -Ambrose Matthews was, in fact, a very welcome distraction. He came that -afternoon, and he was so nicely entertained that he returned again and -again, nearly every day. Enid said she didn’t mind as long as he waited -until five o’clock, because then the light wasn’t any good. Miss Mell -was not disturbed by talking, or by walking, or by singing or by dancing -while she worked, and Rosaleen, it must be confessed, cared very little -whether she worked at all, or not. - -Ambrose was a young man with an obsession. Two generations ago it would -have been called Love; one generation past would have called it Women; -but he, of course, called it Sex. He was a writer, he said. His father -supported him, so that he didn’t need to be “commercial.” He was indeed -so uncommercial that his creations never got beyond his own brain. -However, he was only twenty-two, and still regarding his world. - -The talk, during his visits, was supposed to be stimulating, and it -resolved itself into a sort of duel between Ambrose and Rosaleen, in -which Enid was the young man’s perverse second and Miss Mell assisted -Rosaleen in her defense. - -He used to bring lurid little magazines of strange shapes and colours, -things that never lasted more than a few months. - -“Why do they publish the things?” asked Miss Mell. “They certainly can’t -pay. And nobody could possibly enjoy them.” - -“Listen to this!” said Ambrose. “It’s _good_!” - -And then would follow the expression of some individual’s point of view, -which was called an “article,” always about fallen women, race suicide, -and so on. It appeared from these little publications that it was not -only necessary but “sincere” and altogether praiseworthy to repeat all -the well-known facts and statistics on these subjects over and over, -endlessly. No matter how trite, or how biased, so long as the author was -“sincere” and stuck to more or less forbidden topics, his “article” -_must_ be published, and his opinion _must_ be respected. It was a crime -against society not to be eternally interested in these things. - -Rosaleen was well aware that Ambrose had no intentions toward her of a -personal nature; he was simply mildly attracted by her. But as a matter -of principle he was forever urging on her his point of view. He couldn’t -endure her inviolable reserve; it made him furious that she would not -discuss these things. He was always saying how incomplete was the life -of a woman without an “affair.” And he was not content with -dissertations upon the influence of love on the soul; he became medical -and pathological and sociological. According to him, the life of a -spinster was not only anti-social and morbid; it was a sort of suicide; -it led inevitably to madness and death. Facts did not disturb him; the -numbers of self-respecting celibate women he was naturally obliged to -meet, who were neither ill nor mad, and who were quite as happy as the -married women, convinced him not at all. All these women, he insisted, -were either absorbed in secret love-affairs, or--or they could not and -did not exist. He denied them. - -“I’ll tell you what’s the matter with you and your professors and your -doctors and your writers,” said Enid, one day. “It makes you all frantic -to think that women can get along without you. Well, they can and they -do, plenty of them.” - -Ambrose said, no, they didn’t. Or if they did, they were dreadfully -unhappy. - -“No more unhappy than _with_ them,” said Enid. - -As for Rosaleen, she said nothing. She didn’t agree with either Ambrose -or Enid. She felt that she should have liked very much to have a -husband and children, but that, if they never came to her, she should -nevertheless manage to live a fairly pleasant and happy life. She knew, -however, that this was not a “view,” and that no one would have been -interested in hearing it. - -In spite of his fixed idea, they not only tolerated Ambrose, but they -were rather fond of him. He filled a gap. He was, in a way, their pet. -They liked to see his curly head leaning against the back of their big -wing chair; they liked to hear his voice, and to smell the smoke of his -pipe. He was another young thing in their young world; and what in later -life was to be highly unpleasant, was now, at twenty-three, harmless and -laughable. - -Lawrence never came. Dodo and Enid saw that there was a mystery here, -and they spoke of it to each other more than once. Sometimes they -laughed and sometimes they were angry. The way in which he had invited -everyone to supper and then run off and left the others to pay! But they -didn’t mention it to Rosaleen, and she, in despair of ever being able to -explain that extraordinary evening, never brought up the subject. But -they all missed him. Once in a while Miss Mell would say, “There goes -Lawrence!” and they would run to the window, to see him, in his great -fur-lined coat and silk hat, getting into a taxi, off to one of those -teas where he so shone. He was inordinately fond of “society”: they -read his name in the papers in connection with all sorts of pageants, -charity balls, amateur theatricals, costume dances. He said he did it to -get business, but that wasn’t quite true. He did it because he liked it; -because he liked the idle and seductive women who flattered him. He had -sitters, too, women who came in elegant limousines and had tea with him. -He never raised his eyes to the windows above. - - -III - -But one day early in April, just before the Spring came, he appeared, -just as usual, in the doorway. - -“Hello!” said Enid, carelessly. “We didn’t expect _you_. We haven’t any -cup for your tea. We broke our only extra one this morning.” - -“The obliging Dorothy Mell will go down to my room and get one,” said -he, “also a package of chocolates on the table by the window. Eh?” - -She did, and she brought up all Rosaleen’s work and left it secretly in -the back room. - -Lawrence was unusually polite. He asked them all how they were getting -on, and listened with interest while they told him. They were all a -little proud of their progress. Miss Mell had three big orders ahead of -her. Enid was going to have an exhibition with three other young and -arrogantly unpopular artists. And Rosaleen was more or less regularly -employed by a magazine to do each month a page of--if you can believe -that such things exist--“childrens’ fashions.” - -“You’re all doing very nicely,” he said. “I’m very much pleased. I came -up to give you my blessing before I go.” - -“Before you go!” said Miss Mell. “Where are you going?” - -“I’m giving up my place downstairs, and to-morrow, _to-morrow_, I’m off -to Paris! Paris the kind, Paris the friendly! Paris the beneficent -goddess of my student days! I have a nostalgia, my children.... So I -shall kiss you all good-bye and give you a little fatherly advice before -leaving....” - -He swaggered over to Rosaleen’s table. - -“No reason why you shouldn’t become successful,” he said. “You must -know, my children, that brains are not necessary to an artist. An artist -can be absolutely crude and ignorant, and yet be a genius. He needs only -an ardent spirit. Of course, you haven’t got that, Rosaleen, but then -you’re not an artist. But take this Enid girl. Give her a certain amount -of knowledge, as definite as that of a brick-layer; teach this woman to -draw, and she _will_ be an artist--of a sort. She doesn’t need to know -anything else. She won’t need to read, or to think....” - -“Oh, so you’re beginning to see me, are you?” said Enid. - -“I always did see you, my dear. You’re very nice to see. Children, -listen to my advice. If a woman wishes to make herself irresistible, -after attending to personal appearance, I recommend her to become an -artist or an actress. Nothing else will give her the same prestige--not -even a lot of money. There’s a rakishness about it--a spiciness. It -gives a piquancy even to Rosaleen.” - -He laughed. - -“Good Lord!” he said. “How they all love us! It’s queer.... Of all -artists, the painter is the favourite with the public. To most of them, -artist _means_ painter.... And yet, thinking it over, it’s not so hard -to understand this favouritism. The painter is apt to be more ordinary, -more normal, more human, than the poet or the musician. His art is more -obvious, more facile. It certainly requires less ‘temperament.’ The -painter is not required to be erratic and morbid. In fact, a proper -painter is expected to be more or less rollicking. I ask you to consider -for a moment the popular idea of what goes on in our studios! The public -imagines the poet sitting up all night writing in ecstasy, the musician -forever before his instrument. But the painter! Lord! They never think -of us as _working_. We’re supposed to be eternally pawning our dead -mother’s ring for money for Bohemian orgies, to be rowdy and care-free -and generous, and all that sort of thing. The painter is the only artist -that the public likes to see happy.” - -“Of course it’s the easiest art to understand,” said Enid. - -“Don’t talk, woman, but listen and try to learn. There’s no question -here of ‘understanding’ art. But it’s easier and pleasanter for people -to look at a painting, which takes only a minute, than it is to listen -to an opera, or to read an epic.... So I advise you all to be artists, -my children, and to enjoy yourselves.” - -Then he solemnly kissed them each good-bye. - -And after that, no more of Lawrence for a long time. - - - - -CHAPTER FIVE - - -Miss Waters was clearing out her desk that morning. She had a pupil -drawing in the studio, but it was a pupil who was meek and ignorant and -could be left alone. She was trying to figure out just how much she -owed, writing in an exercise book, with great precision, the amount, the -date, and the nature of each bill. - -WILLIAM WELLS--GROCER--EGGS, COFFEE, -BREAD, JAM--MAY 4TH, 1915. $3.07. - -That was an old one.... Bills for paints, brushes, paper, for headache -powders, cold cream and “druggists’ sundries,” for framing, bills of -carpenters, coal and wood men, icemen, butchers. And she had got into -one of her panics, at the sight of all these debts, and the thought of -her penniless old age. Her mind would rush round like a little animal in -a cage, looking for a chance of escape. She felt trapped and terrified. -She didn’t know how to earn or how to save. She foresaw herself starving -in a garret, dying in the ward of a hospital, going mad, being paralysed -and helpless, all the spectres that haunted her hours of serious -thought. - -There was a ring at the door bell. She didn’t go. She always waited -hoping that the presumable collector would go away. But it rang again -and again, and at last the meek little pupil called out, “I think your -bell is ringing, Miss Waters!” So finally she opened the door, to see -there the obliging little Italian fruiterer. - -“Telephone!” he cried, in great excitement. “Telephone, Missa Wata!” - -Having no telephone in her own flat, Miss Waters had long ago made an -“arrangement” with Tony, by which she was permitted to give her friends -his telephone number, and was to be summoned by him when anyone of them -should call for her. It didn’t happen very often. - -“Oh, my!” she said. “I’m so busy! Do you know who it is, Tony?” - -He shook his head. - -“Telephone!” he cried, again. - -“Er--chi?” she enquired. “Chi, Tony?” - -“Doan know!” he cried, in distress. “Doan know! Missa Wata coma quick!” - -She slipped into a rain-coat and hurried out to the little shop on the -corner, where at the back, among barrels and boxes and crates and a -pungent smell of oranges, was Tony’s telephone. She picked up the -receiver. - -“Ye-hes?” she enquired, in her most cultivated voice. - -“Number please!” said the operator. - -“I don’t want a number,” Miss Waters explained. “Someone called me!” - -“Your party’s hung up!” said the operator. - -Miss Waters didn’t comprehend, but Tony’s wife, an opulent young woman -nursing a big baby, exclaimed: - -“Your fren, she no wait. You come too slow. She go away. Gooda-bye.” - -Miss Waters was frantically distressed, and protested through the -telephone. But the operator had no consolation to give her, and Tony and -his wife were smiling and indifferent. She left the shop, after buying -an orange to placate Tony, and returned to her flat. But her distress -did not subside; she felt that she had been called upon and had not -responded, that in some way she had failed someone. - -And suddenly came to the conclusion that it must have been Rosaleen. She -“just felt” that it was. And it worried her beyond measure. She knew -that Rosaleen was quite alone in her studio now, for Mell and Bainbridge -had gone to Provincetown for the month of July, and she felt sure that -something was wrong. Rosaleen wouldn’t have called her out for nothing. -She peered into the studio; the meek pupil was still drawing a “study” -of empty boxes; then she hurried out of the flat and back to Tony’s -fruit store. - -It was Rosaleen’s own voice that answered, and she gave an odd cry: - -“Miss Waters!... I’d been trying....” - -“I thought so, dear! Was there----” - -“Please come right away!” Rosaleen interrupted her, with desperate -earnestness. “Just as quickly as you possibly can! Please, _please_ -hurry!” - -“What’s wrong, my dear?” - -“Oh, never _mind_! I’ll tell you when you get here. Hurry!” - -Her great anxiety made the poor old soul slower than ever. With -fumbling, trembling fingers she tried to dress in such a way as to be -ready for any emergency; then she went into the studio to excuse herself -to the pupil, and couldn’t get away from her; stood there saying utterly -unnecessary things, repeating herself. At last she was hurrying across -the park in the glare of the July sun, trying to walk her fastest, but -with a nightmare sensation of being as stiff as a wooden doll, and -covering no ground. She hurried up the dark stairs and knocked on the -studio door. It was flung open and Rosaleen confronted her. - -She gave a shriek of terror. - -“Rosaleen!” she cried. “Oh!... Rosaleen!” - -To see neat, fair Rosaleen like this, white as a ghost, with her hair -half down, her dress spattered with blood!... - -“What _is_ it? What _is_ it?” she cried. - -“Hush!” whispered Rosaleen, shaking her arm. “Keep quiet! You’ve got to -help me!” - -Miss Waters followed her into the back room, but she couldn’t suppress -another scream. For there on one of the cots lay the enormous bulk of a -man, with his eyes closed and his hair dank and wet across his brow. - -“What shall I do with him?” whispered Rosaleen. - -“Who _is_ he?” Miss Waters asked. - -“Why, Lawrence Iverson, of course!” - -“What’s the matter with him, Rosaleen?” Miss Waters cried. “Is -he--drunk?” - -“No! He tried to kill himself!” - -“Mercy!” - -“He cut his wrist with a knife, and said he was going to bleed to -death----” - -“Send for a doctor _quickly_!” - -“No! Then he’d be put in prison. It’s against the law.” They both stared -helplessly at the silent man. - -“We ought to tie it up,” said Miss Waters. - -“I did. I don’t think it’s bleeding any more. But I’m afraid it was too -late. He wouldn’t let me touch it at first. Oh, Miss Waters! Is he -dying?” - -Miss Waters couldn’t help thinking so; anyone who lay quiet with closed -eyes and a face as white as that was presumably dying. - -“I think you _ought_ to get a doctor,” she said. “You might be accused -of murdering him.” - -“I can’t help it,” said Rosaleen. “I told him I wouldn’t.” - -“Did he talk?” - -“Yes, lots. He came in while I was eating my lunch.... Came bursting in -the moment I opened the door. And he said he’d lost everything--he said -‘Heaven had mocked him’.... Then he said, ‘Rosaleen, I’m going to kill -myself, and I must have you near me when I die,’ and he took a knife out -of his pocket.... Oh!...” - -She gripped Miss Waters’ hand violently, struggling against a sort of -convulsion of sickness and terror. - -“Oh! No, no, no! Don’t comfort me, or anything.... I’ve _got_ to brace -up.... If I let go ... one minute ... I’ll scream!” - -Miss Waters felt that if Rosaleen screamed, she would go mad. With -trembling hands she took off her jacket and hat, and laid them on a -chair. - -“Shall we give him some brandy?” - -“I haven’t any.” - -“I’ll run out and get some.” - -Rosaleen blanched at the thought of waiting alone with her sinister -guest, but she gallantly agreed. And Miss Waters put on her things again -and went, with weak knees and pounding heart, down the stairs to the -street. She didn’t know where to get brandy; she stood irresolutely -outside the house for a moment; then she hurried to the FINE FEATHERS’ -shop and approached the elder partner, Miss Sillon. - -“I want some brandy for a sick person!” she whispered. “Have you any?” - -“Yes, I have!” answered Miss Sillon. “What _is_ the matter, Miss Waters? -You look absolutely done up. Who’s sick?” - -“Oh, no one special!” cried Miss Waters, in mortal terror lest this -acute young woman should penetrate the mystery. - -Miss Sillon asked no more questions, but fetched a small flask and gave -it to Miss Waters. - -“Call on me, you know, if you want anything,” she said. “I’m awfully -practical!” - -“Oh, no, thank you!” said Miss Waters. “I--I--I have a trained nurse and -a doctor waiting....” - -Rosaleen let her in. - -“He’s groaning now,” she said. “Is that a good sign, do you think?” - -Miss Waters shook her head. - -“Here’s the brandy,” she said. - -“How do you give it?” asked Rosaleen. “With water? Hot? Out of a spoon?” - -Miss Waters reflected. Then she remembered often having seen in moving -pictures flasks being held to the lips of injured persons. So Rosaleen -lifted up his head and Miss Waters poured a little brandy down his -throat. He opened his great black eyes and fixed her with a sombre, -dreadful stare. - -“Oh, mercy!” she cried. - -Rosaleen hastily laid his head back on the pillow and came round to look -at him. - -“Mr. Iverson!” she cried. “Are you better?” - -He groaned and flung his arms across his face. And began to sob in a -hoarse, heart-rending voice. - -“Oh, Lawrence dear!” she cried, kneeling down beside him. “What is the -trouble? What can I do for you?” - -His great body was shaking with the violence of his sobs. Rosaleen put -her arms about him. - -“Please don’t cry!” she entreated. - -She tried gently to take his arms away, so that she could see his face, -but he resisted, and she was afraid to persist, for fear of hurting his -bandaged wrist. She laid her cheek against his hands and clasped him -tighter, suffering with him, in anguish at his despair. - -“Tell me!” she said. “What can I do for you?” - -Very slowly he took down his arms and let her see his awful face, his -desperate and forlorn regard. - -“Well!” he said. “What do you imagine you can do? _I’m going blind!_” - - - - -BOOK THREE: FORLORN ROSALEEN - - - - -CHAPTER ONE - - -I - -At first he couldn’t believe it. He thought it was; he followed her for -two blocks; then he decided it wasn’t, and suddenly she had stopped to -look in a shop window, and he knew. He was shocked. This the pretty, -endearing kid of two years ago, this haggard, hollow-cheeked woman so -shabbily dressed, without gloves, with worn old boots, with that air of -haste and anxiety! - -“Rosaleen!” he said. - -She whirled round and looked into his face with startled eyes. - -“Why!” she cried. “_Mr. Landry!_” - -He took her little bare hand and looked down at her, distressed beyond -measure by the change in the poor little thing. But smiling, to hide his -disturbance. - -“Where are you off to, in such a hurry?” he asked, “I’ve been trying to -catch you up for a long time.” - -“I’m going home.” - -“Still living up-town?” - -“No; down in Washington Square.” - -He couldn’t endure to let go of her hand, he couldn’t endure the thought -of losing her; the tenderness and affection he had felt for her two -years ago came back a hundredfold now. A tenderness that wrung his -heart. To see her so shabby, so thin, so anxious, and still with her -lovely, luminous grey eyes.... - -“Can’t I walk with you part of the way?” he asked. - -“I was going in the ‘L’,” she said, doubtfully. - -“But you’re not in a hurry?... Have you had lunch?” - -“Oh, I couldn’t!” - -“Nonsense! Come on!” - -She wavered; and he instantly took advantage of her irresolution by -taking her arm. - -“Please!” he said. “It’s Saturday, the one day I don’t have to hurry.” - -And, so afraid was he of any silence between them, that he began to talk -about nothing; about how he had come up to Tiffany’s from his office, to -see about a watch he was having repaired. About how fine the weather was -for March, and how lively Fifth Avenue looked, and so on, until they -were outside the little restaurant he had decided upon. - -“I can’t, Mr. Landry! I look too--awful!” - -“Rosaleen, you couldn’t look awful. And if I don’t mind, I don’t believe -anyone else will complain.” - -She followed him to a corner table and sat down, confused and -embarrassed, opposite him. She was so conscious of her bare hands, her -carelessly dressed hair. He ordered a substantial lunch, and then leaned -across the table, to look at her. - -“You’re much thinner,” he said. “Why? You don’t look well!” - -“I’m all right,” she said. “How are you?” - -“I’m not all right,” he answered. “I’ve never been all right since I was -fool enough to let you go.” - -“Oh, no!” she said, with a bitter little smile. “Don’t pretend you’ve -been thinking of me all the time. I know better!” - -“No,” he said, in his serious way. “I’m not saying I’ve thought of you -all the time. What I mean is, that I realised long ago--that you were -the--the right one--the only woman in the world for me....” - -She smiled again, but with tears in her eyes. - -“Let’s not be silly!” she said. “Let’s just be good friends.....” - -“No!... Look here, Rosaleen.... I wish I could tell you how I feel.... -At first, I’ll be honest--At first I was angry. I felt that you hadn’t -been fair with me.... I thought I’d forget the whole thing. But I -couldn’t. I wrote to you, twice. And then when you didn’t answer, I -thought--it was over. It haunted me. I promise you, Rosaleen----” - -She laid her hand very lightly on his arm. - -“Please--let’s not bring it all up again?” she said. “It _is_ all -over.... Tell me how you’ve been getting on. You look--splendid.” - -And she really thought he did. He was well-dressed, he had a prosperous, -an important air; he was no longer a boy, but a man, and a mighty -self-confident man. - -“I’m doing very well,” he said. “But I want to hear about you.” - -“Oh!... I’m an artist!” she said, laughing. “A regular professional -artist.” - -“Are you? It doesn’t seem to agree with you.” - -“It isn’t the work that disagrees with me; it’s the not getting any -work. I’m poor!” - -“Do you support yourself? Don’t you live with--those Humberts any -longer?” - -She shook her head. - -“No,” she said. “You see ... I’m married.” - -“_Rosaleen!_” he cried. - -For a few moments he was silent, looking at her, filled with an immense -regret, a remorse that stifled him. - -“Who?” he asked at last. - -“An artist.” - -“But--doesn’t the fellow support you? Doesn’t he--work?” - -“He tries. But he’s nearly blind.” - -“Good God! And you support him?” - -“I do the best I can. Only I’ve been sick.” - -“No!” he cried. “Rosaleen, this is horrible! What can I do to help you?” - -“Don’t!” she said. “You’ll make me cry.... You--you make me so--so sorry -for myself....” - -They couldn’t finish their lunch, either of them. Landry paid the check, -and they rose. But as she was passing out in front of him, he stopped -her. - -“Rosaleen,” he said. “They have very good chocolates here. You used to -like chocolates. Let me get you a box!” - -But now she was crying, and he hastily turned with her into a quieter -street. - -“No cause for tears!” he said, cheerfully. - -“I know it!... But I’m--I’m a fool.... I’m nervous, I guess....” - -“I’ll take you home.” - -“No, I’d _rather_ not, Mr. Landry!” - -“Don’t you want to see me again?” - -“Yes, I do. Any evening--this evening, if you like.” - -He wrote down the address. - -“But I don’t like to let you go like this!” he said. “I don’t think -you’re fit. Let me get you a taxi?” - -“No, thanks, really I’m perfectly all right!” - -She smiled at him to convince him. And with a long hand clasp they -separated. He stood looking after her, with a pity almost beyond his -endurance. So this is what she had come to! Shabby, hungry, running -about looking for work to support a blind husband. He could see before -him the kid in the sailor blouse, in Miss Waters’ studio.... - -The girl he ought to have married. He could have spared her all this. It -was _his_ fault, all of it his fault. - - -II - -They were living in the same studio Rosaleen had once shared with Enid -and Dodo. And when Landry opened the door, he was rather impressed. -Perhaps he had unconsciously expected a garret and the blind man lying -on a pallet. And instead saw a large and imposingly artistic room, very -dark in the corners, but with a circle of light from a red-shaded lamp -on a table in the centre and Rosaleen and her husband sitting beside it. -The husband, too, was much better than he had expected; he was really a -very gentlemanly chap, and a good talker; nothing pitiful or destitute -about him. One wouldn’t have suspected him of being blind. An immense, -fat fellow with a tremendous voice, and a somewhat broad sense of -humour. He talked to Landry about the opera, for that was the only form -of art with which the young man was acquainted. He had a very decent -cigar to offer him, and he mixed an excellent cocktail. - -Rosaleen, too, was different; she wore an embroidered smock of dark red -silk and she had bronze slippers and stockings, and her fine brown hair -was parted on one side and doubled under, to look like a short crop. -Landry thought she looked quite as an artist’s wife ought to look, and -charming, and adorable. She had scarcely said a word all the evening; -she had sat in silence while the two men talked, but he knew very well -that she wasn’t listening. She had an odd, preoccupied look in her eyes -which he later came to know very well.... - -It was a mild and somewhat flavourless evening. When the time came for -him to go, the husband invited him to come to lunch the following -Saturday, and he had said that he would. - -He went home in a queer mood; he was, although he didn’t know it, -refusing to think at all, refusing to examine his impressions. - - -III - -As he was walking over from the bus that next Saturday, he met her -hurrying through Fourth Street, and he was really shocked at her -appearance. Even an artist’s wife ought to be a little more particular. -She was hatless, with felt bedroom slippers on her feet, and her arms -were filled with huge bundles from which protruded the feathery tops of -carrots and celery leaves. The gay April breeze was blowing her soft -untidy hair across her eyes, and at first she didn’t recognise him. - -“Oh, Mr. Landry!” she said. “Don’t _look_ at me!... You shouldn’t come -so early...!” - -There was a very great change in her; a greater one than he had realised -before. She was not only thinner and paler and older looking; she was -different. That critical and childish look in her eyes had gone, that -air of an observer; she was no longer looking on at life, she was _in_ -it, she was living. - -He took one of the immense bags and followed her upstairs. - -And the studio, too, was revealed to him in its reality; the artistic -glamour of it was gone in the daylight. In fact, it wasn’t a studio at -all; there was, crowded into one corner, a small table on which -Rosaleen’s drawing materials were neatly laid out on a blotter, but the -other corners contained only sordid and common adjuncts to a -poverty-stricken life; a cheap little bureau covered with a paltry lace -scarf, a trunk masquerading as a table, a wooden egg crate in which were -dozens of tins of tomatoes, bought at a sale. The distinguished artist -himself was not what he had seemed; he was still handsome, still -debonair, but he was wearing a dirty collar and a soiled white apron -over a wrinkled suit. He was sitting beside a little gas stove on a -table, on which was superimposed a portable oven with a glass door, and -he was peering in with his extinguished eyes, so absorbed in his -watching that he had to make a visible effort to arouse himself and to -welcome Landry. - -“A la bonne heure!” he said, cordially. “I’ve made something which no -man with a soul could resist. It will be ready at one sharp. A Galette, -to be eaten hot, with a sauce of wine and cream. That, coffee of the -best, and a marvellous little salad.... Eh?” - -Landry answered without great enthusiasm; he wasn’t much interested in -food. And immediately the conversation languished, the animation fled -from Lawrence’s face; he became again crumpled and dejected, until -Rosaleen, who had been in the back room, returned and began asking him -questions about the Galette. That started him; he talked and talked, -and his talk was all of food--about methods of preparation--a subject -upon which Landry was profoundly ignorant. The meals in his home were -plain and not greatly varied, meat, poultry and game roasted or broiled, -the more respectable vegetables, an unobtrusive salad, innocent milky -puddings, and those peculiar and delectable Southern hot breads. When he -ate in a restaurant he ordered very much the same things, and when he -was the guest of someone very rich who set rare dishes before him, he -didn’t quite know what he was eating and cared still less. Such an idea -as stuffing an eggplant with chopped liver seemed to him fantastic and -frivolous. - -The lunch was undoubtedly a good one, but it was ruined by Lawrence’s -interminable culinary talk. There was no chance for a word with -Rosaleen; she seemed to have no other idea in her head but to “draw out” -her tiresome husband, to encourage him to bore their guest beyond -toleration. Landry felt that this was hardly hospitable. - -At last he rose. - -“I’ll have to be going,” he said. “It’s after three, and I have an -engagement.” - -Lawrence shook his hand with tremendous cordiality. - -“Come again!” he said. “Take pity on a man who has very little left in -life. Come often!” - -He turned toward Rosaleen, and Landry distinctly saw a look of -understanding pass between them which he didn’t like. - -“I’ll walk as far as the corner with you,” said Rosaleen. “I have an -errand.” - -And just as she was, she went out of the door with him. He stopped her -at the head of the stairs. - -“You shouldn’t go out in those slippers, Rosaleen! You’ll catch -cold....” - -“But that’s just where I’m going!” she answered, laughing. “To the -shoemaker’s to get my shoes. They’re being mended.” - -“But--” he began, and stopped. - -“But haven’t you more than one pair?” he had been about to say. - -He couldn’t endure to see her running about the streets like this, -hatless, in bedroom slippers, a neglected, pitiful creature who had lost -her womanly pride. - -All the circumstances of her life puzzled and displeased him. There was -something about it he couldn’t comprehend--that fat fellow with his -cooking, the strained gallantry of Rosaleen’s bearing, the subtly -unpleasant atmosphere which surrounded them. Even poverty couldn’t -account for it, he thought. - -They had reached the corner, and Rosaleen stopped. - -“Mr. Landry!” she said. “Could you lend me ten dollars?” - -He pulled out his bill fold, handed her a bill, politely waved aside her -thanks, and fled, hurrying from the sight of her. He felt really sick, -with pity, with amazement, with an unconquerable disgust. - - - - -CHAPTER TWO - -I - - -Ridiculous! He had said that he wanted to help Rosaleen, and now, as -soon as he had a chance, he was horribly upset. - -He sat down that very evening and wrote her a note. - - “Dear Rosaleen: - - “You must not be offended when I say that I have noticed that you - are in straitened circumstances. I hope you look upon me, as I look - upon you, as an old friend, and you must allow me the privilege of - helping you. Do not hesitate to tell me at any time if you think I - can be of use. - - “Always faithfully your friend, - - “Nicholas Landry.” - -And he enclosed a cheque. - -When he had addressed and sealed the letter, he sat back in his chair -and contemplated his surroundings with a frown. He had been writing at a -little desk in the corner of the library; there beside the table in the -centre of the room sat his august and benevolent aunt, in her discreet -black dinner gown, embroidering. Through the open door he could see -young Caroline in the next room sitting before the piano, hands idle in -her lap, her face upturned to the young man standing beside her.... It -hurt him intolerably. Now, when he would have been able to give to his -wife--not a setting quite so luxurious as this, but at least peace, -dignity, and comfort, he was compelled to see this beloved creature in -degrading and sordid poverty. - -He had done remarkably well. He had had a small legacy from an uncle. -His sister had whimpered a little when he refused to spare her the price -of one new dress from it, but she had soon been brought to approve his -severity. He had known where to place his money; it had gone into a -growing young firm of ship brokers, and himself with it, and he saw -ahead of him just the future he had planned. - -The financial future, that is. But not the home he had imagined. He was -not a man easily attracted by women; in fact, he rather disliked them. -He was not impressionable, not emotional; he was one of those absurd and -incredible creatures capable of loving one woman all through life. And -not through any conscious and pompous effort, either. He saw plainly -that he would never want anyone but Rosaleen, and he saw, too, with -equal plainness, that he could not have her. The idea of intriguing to -win her from her husband never entered his head. He would not even say -to himself that he loved her; he simply said that he regretted her, -bitterly, profoundly. His point of view was either honourable or -sentimental, whichever way you choose to see it, but it was sincere. He -didn’t deceive himself; but he saw not the faintest danger of any -catastrophe. He knew he could trust himself to go on seeing Rosaleen, -just as he knew he could trust her. He was not at all afraid of this -woman who borrowed money from him. Instead, he said to himself-- - -“Thank God I’ve got something to give her!” - - -II - -No answer came to his letter; in fact, it was never answered and never -mentioned by either of them. The cheque dropped into that bottomless pit -which was their household exchequer. - -A week later he decided to stroll down to the Square, and perhaps to -visit Rosaleen.... It was a wonderful Spring evening, filled with that -cruel promise, that hope never defined, never fulfilled, that wayward -melancholy that is the spirit of every such hour. It touched Landry -profoundly; the cries of the children at play sounded plaintive in his -ears; he even saw a futile pathos in the street lights that glowed so -blatantly against a sky not yet entirely darkened. There was a faint -breeze blowing, and in the little park the swelling branches of the bare -young trees swayed mildly. - -He went upstairs, to find the studio door open and a party going on, the -room crowded and turbulent. Lawrence recognised him at once, and -welcomed him with delight. - -“Just in time!” he cried. “Put your hat and stick in the back room and -come in and get a drink!” - -Still aloof and enchanted by the Spring night, Landry somewhat -reluctantly obeyed, and pushing aside the curtain, entered that private -apartment into which he had observed Rosaleen disappearing from time to -time. A horrible little black hole with nothing in it but a wide bed -with sagging springs that nearly touched the floor, and, all round the -walls, hooks upon which hung the motley clothes of the household. -Nothing else; no rug on the floor, nor a chair; evidently all the rest -of their earthly possessions had gone into the big studio. - -He laid his hat and stick on the ragged white counterpane, and returned -to the party. The key to the situation was not in his hands; he saw -none of the pathos of it; he saw merely a crowd of noisy and vulgar -people who were drinking too much, making too much of a row, dancing -with abandon to the music of a wretched phonograph. Rosaleen hurried -about, an anxious hostess, changing records, filling glasses, talking to -this one and that; now and then she danced, but perfunctorily. No one -paid much attention to her. She wore the same dark red silk smock and -bronze slippers she had worn on the evening of his first visit, but by -the garish light of four gas jets, he could see now how worn and shabby -this finery was. - -But there was a great deal which he could not see. He could not see the -frightful fear of solitude in Lawrence’s heart which made him welcome -this riff-raff, these people who could be raked in at an hour’s notice, -lured by whiskey, by the perfect freedom allowed them. None of his old -friends came any more, or Rosaleen’s. They had lost their footing, and -they knew it well. But Lawrence didn’t care, so long as there was noise -and life about him, so long as he was not alone. And Rosaleen, in her -unbounded pity for him, would have watched devils dancing there with joy -if it had given him comfort. - -Landry was completely out of his element. He was really miserable. The -punch was not good, the floor was sticky, the girls were hectic and -peculiar; he was very anxious to get away, but without offending -Rosaleen. He saw her hurry into the back room and, as he was standing -near the curtains, it was easy to slip in after her, unnoticed. - -“Rosaleen,” he began, but stopped in surprise. “Why are you putting on -your hat?” - -“I’m going out,” she said. - -“It’s nearly eleven. Where are you going?” - -“Oh!... To the delicatessen!” she cried, with the first trace of -irritability he had yet seen in her. - -“_Now?_” - -“Yes, now!” she cried, and he was amazed to see tears in her eyes. “Why -do you _bother_ me so? Let me alone!” - -“I don’t want to bother you, Rosaleen,” he said. “But--if you’re going -alone, let me come.” - -“No,” she said. “You can’t. They’d all notice.” - -“Let them! You surely don’t care for the opinion of that crew! And -anyway, they’ll think I’ve gone home.” - -She had got her hat on now. - -“Come on, then!” she said, and led him through a door hidden by hanging -coats and wraps, into the hall. - -She went furiously fast, and they didn’t exchange a word all the way to -Sixth Avenue. She entered a brilliantly lighted shop with a white tiled -floor and advanced to the high glass counter. And began ordering the -most amazing list--soap, bread, pickles, salad, cake, bacon. It made a -huge bundle. Landry tried to take it from her. - -“No!” she said. “You said you were going home!” - -“I’ll take you to the door first. Rosaleen, give me that package and -don’t be so disagreeable! What’s the trouble?” - -“I’m _tired_!” she said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be nasty, Mr. -Landry!” - -She let him take the bundle, and they began to retrace their steps. - -“You _are_ an extraordinary girl!” he said. “I can’t understand you. Do -you always do your marketing a little before midnight?” - -“I do it when I can!” she answered, with a sigh. “When I can get the -money for it.” - -“But--” he began, but stopped short. Had she got the money at that -party? And from whom? - - -III - -He couldn’t help talking about it. He began at breakfast the next -morning, to his aunt. - -“I’ve come across a very sad case,” he said. “Girl I used to know some -time ago. And now she’s married to an artist--rather prominent in the -past, but now he’s going blind. And they’re as poor as possible. What -can you do to help, in a case like that?” - -Mrs. Allanby reflected. - -“Aren’t there societies, dear, to help needy artists?” - -“They don’t want charity!” he said, with his quick frown. - -“What _do_ they want?” - -He regretted having brought up the subject now. But his aunt could not -be stopped. - -“Can’t the wife do something to help? Perhaps Ah could get someone -interested in the case. If you’ll give me the name and address, -Nick....” - -“No! That’s not what I meant. I wanted you to think of some way that _I_ -could do something for them.” - -“I don’t suppose they’d care where the help came from, dear boy....” - -“But _I_ would!” he said, angrily. - -“_You_ would?” she said, and then was silent, with a tact a shade too -obvious. He was heartily sorry he had ever mentioned the thing. - -His food seemed to choke him, when he thought of Rosaleen in want. He -felt gross, decadent, pampered, when he thought of her running through -the streets in her slippers, carrying immense packages. He began, -ridiculously, to deprive himself of things. It somehow gave him -consolation to make himself less comfortable. - -He wrote to her again, and enclosed a larger cheque. (He the prudent, -the practical!) - - “Dear Rosaleen: - - “You must let me help you. If you won’t think of yourself, think of - others. You will wear yourself out, living like this. Tell me how I - can be of service.” - -This letter, too, was never answered, and when four days had gone by, he -decided to go down there and see for himself how things were going. It -was a bright, quiet Sunday and he had contemplated asking her to go for -a walk, so that they could have a serious talk. But he found Lawrence -sitting alone in the studio. - -“Rosaleen’s gone out,” he said. “I’m alone, and you can’t imagine how I -dislike being alone. Sit down and talk to me, won’t you? Of course I -quite realise that I’m not the magnet, and so on, but nevertheless.... -Eh?” - -In common decency, Nick was obliged to comply. - -“Do you know,” Lawrence went on, “one of the worst things about this -thing is the monstrous jealousy it brings out. I’m jealous of Rosaleen. -Not as a husband, you understand; I’m not capable of that. I’ve never -been able to understand it. Why distress oneself so inordinately for the -frail creatures? Why not expect the worst? No, I’m jealous of her -because she can see and I can’t. And she doesn’t need to see.... I hate -her for it, sometimes.... Good God!... I’m growing worse and worse. -Everything is hazy now, as if there were a film over my eyes. -It--maddens me. I’m always trying to brush it away....” - -He groaned, and drew his hand across his forehead. - -“Let me grumble, young man!” he said. “Try to listen to me with a little -human compassion. Try to think what it means--not to _see_.” - -“Yes,” said Landry. “I knew two or three chaps in the army....” - -“Oh, asses! Young, healthy lustful animals, filled with their illusion -that they’ve saved the world with their blindness. But _me_! What -comfort have I? Landry, if I were God Himself, I couldn’t invent -anything more exquisitely hideous than that--to make an _artist_ blind! -An artist, who lives--who feeds himself on colour, whose ecstasy is in a -line, whose heart and soul are only to be reached through his eyes.... -What an idea, eh?” - -“Yes,” said Landry. “It must be pretty bad.” - -But still he couldn’t help feeling more sorry for those young chaps he -had known, blinded in the war, who had had to renounce all the pleasant -ways of life. A fellow like Lawrence, with a brain, a fellow who could -_talk_, didn’t, somehow, seem as pitiful to him as those inarticulate, -suffering boys. Lawrence was queer, he was eccentric, and he no doubt -had queer and eccentric consolations unknown to those others. He -sympathised with Lawrence; certainly. But his mind strayed to Rosaleen. - -Where had she gone? And with whom? He thought about it with growing -uneasiness. At last he took the bull by the horns. - -“Where has Rosaleen gone?” he asked, in a tone as Bohemian and casual as -he could make it. - -“With a new man,” said Lawrence. “A gentlemanly illustrator. Ah, -well!... What can one expect?” - -Just as Lawrence was beginning one of his terrible dissertations on -cooking, there was a knock at the door, and a curly haired young man -entered. He asked for Rosaleen without ceremony. - -“Out with Brindell, taking a walk,” said Lawrence. “Sit down, Matthews, -and have a drink!” - -His manner was a curious blend of contempt and a terribly anxious -hospitality. He despised these two young men, but he wished above all -things to keep them there to talk to. Ambrose Matthews was a little more -to his liking than Landry; he was able to see his point of view, and to -discuss in all its subtle intricacies the anguish of the unfortunate -artist. This never failed to astound Landry. He didn’t see what possible -comfort it could be to Lawrence to dissect his sufferings, to describe -so vividly as to re-live his most horrible moments. - -“I should think you’d rather try to forget it,” he observed, rather -bluntly. - -Ambrose Matthews explained. - -“My dear fellow, that’s the worst possible course. To repress, to -conceal, and all that sort of thing.... What we need is to drag -everything out into the sunlight. There the weeds will perish and the -hardy plants thrive.” - -“Sunlight doesn’t kill weeds,” said Lawrence. “I don’t talk for the -benefit of my psyche, or my subconscious self, or my soul; I talk -because it interests me.” - -Landry got up. - -“I’ll have to be getting along!” he said. “Will you tell Rosaleen I’m -sorry I missed her?... Is there anything I can do for you before I go?” - -“You might run in next door and get me a package of cigarettes,” said -Lawrence. “I’ve begun to smoke.” - -Resentful and sulky, Landry did this, and when he returned with them, he -found Ambrose Matthews waiting for him. - -“I’ll walk a part of the way with you,” he said, and, as was his habit, -took his companion’s arm. - -“You haven’t seen Rosaleen’s latest, have you?” he asked. - -“Latest what?” demanded Landry, stiffly. - -“Latest--I don’t know what to call us. Latest One to Be Borrowed From. -He’s the fifth, to my knowledge. And why do we do it? She’s not even -grateful. It’s an interesting case.” - -Landry withdrew his arm, under the pretext of lighting a cigarette. - -“Not so interesting for _her_,” he said. “Poor girl!” - -“It’s a sort of perverted sex instinct,” said Ambrose. “Her training has -been so repressive that she’s afraid to accept love, so she substitutes -money----” - -“Rot!” said Landry, violently. “It’s nothing but an ‘instinct’ to get -something to eat for herself and her husband.” - -Then Ambrose said that it was perhaps a perverted maternal instinct. - -“She ought to have had children,” he said. “As it is, she lavishes on -him the maternal love she would have given to them.” - -“She’s not perverted at all,” said Landry. “What you choose to call -perverted is what _I_ call--good.” - - -IV - -But it worried him frightfully. He made up his mind to remonstrate with -Rosaleen, and he wrote her another note. - - “Will you meet me at the Ritz at four to-morrow? I want to talk to - you alone for a few minutes, please.” - -At breakfast the next morning came her answer. - - “Dear Mr. Landry: Please don’t ask me to do that. I never do. You - can always see me here whenever you like. - - R. I.” - -This astonished him. He hadn’t expected any objection. He felt suddenly -desolate and unhappy; he felt that he was not Rosaleen’s own particular -friend, who could be permitted all privileges; she was treating him as -she would any man; he was simply one of a crowd.... - -But he went, that same evening. The studio was crowded with people, most -of whom he had seen there before. But there was one man whom he did not -know, but whom he knew must be the gentlemanly illustrator. A -well-dressed, nice-looking young chap, with a silent air of observing, -not too favourably, all that went on before him. And his eyes followed -Rosaleen all the time, and for her and her only he had a quick and -subtle smile. - -A feeling which he refused to recognise took possession of Landry, a -rage that shook the very foundation of his self-control. He went over to -the corner where they stood talking. - -“You promised to talk to me alone!” he said, with a manner he had never -used before in his life--an outrageous insolence. “Come out and walk -round the park, will you?” - -Brindell looked at him, at first astonished, and then very angry. - -“Who the devil is _this_?” he asked, turning to Rosaleen. - -“An old, old friend,” said Rosaleen, hastily. “Excuse me, please, Mr. -Brindell, just for a few minutes?” - -“Come on! Put on your hat and coat!” said Landry. - -Rosaleen shook her head. - -“No; we can talk in here,” she said, and led him into the back room. -“Mr. Landry, what made you so rude?” - -“Do you borrow money from that--popinjay?” he demanded. - -He was glad to see the shocked colour that rose in her thin face; he -wanted and intended to be outrageous. - -“You--haven’t any right to talk like that!” she cried. “I----” - -“I have. I’ve lent you money. You’re under obligations to me.... I -_won’t have_ you doing this! Haven’t you any pride? Any self-respect?” - -“Hush! Don’t talk so loud!... Oh, Mr. Landry, how _can_ you!” - -“Haven’t you any decency?” he went on, furiously. “You’re common talk, -you and your ‘friends.’ I’m ashamed of you!” - -“Mr. Landry!” she cried, amazed. “What’s the matter with you?” - -“I’m disgusted!” he said. “I’m....” - -He looked at her, standing before him, the harassed and solitary -creature who had endured so much, who suffered such indignities without -being overwhelmed. There she was, in her mountebank costume, her red -smock, her bronze slippers, with her pale and anxious face.... He -thought of the complexity, the mystery of these dealings she had had -with men, and he hated her. - -“I’m _through_ with you!” he said. - -He pulled down his hat from the hook where he always left it, and opened -the door into the hall. - -“No!... Mr. Landry!” she whispered, clutching at his coat. “Don’t! -Please don’t go like this!” - -But he looked at her with a glance so scornful and full of loathing that -she dropped her hands hastily. - -But before he had got to the street door, she came running down the -stairs after him; he heard the clop-clop of her slippers, which were too -large and left her foot at every step. - -“Mr. Landry!” she cried. “Please!... I don’t want you to misjudge me.... -I thought you would understand!” - -“I don’t!” he said, briefly. - -“But what else can I do? How can we live?” - -“Does your husband know that you do--this?” - -“Of course!” she cried, astonished. “He’s the one who--he asks me to.” - -They were standing outside the door of what had been Lawrence’s old -studio; the hall was entirely dark; he couldn’t see her at all. That -made her voice seem quite different; it reached him a disembodied sound, -miraculously sad. - -“I never meant to tell anyone,” she said. “But now I’d like to tell you. -It’s wrong. It’s weak. I ought just to do what I think right and not -care if I _am_ misunderstood. But I can’t.” - -She was still a moment. - -“Let’s go into the tea room downstairs. Miss Gosorkus is upstairs and I -don’t think there’ll be anyone there.” - - - - -CHAPTER THREE - - -I - -They sat there for hours, at a tiny table, in a corner of the dimly -lighted shop, crowded with miscellaneous objects, embroidered smocks, -brass candlesticks, pictures, books, curios, baskets. The red curtains -were drawn across the windows, the door was closed; they were -undisturbed, isolated during the course of that most pathetic of human -struggles--that forever unsuccessful effort of one soul to explain -itself to another. With utter earnestness, sincerity, with justice and -compassion for Lawrence, Rosaleen tried to give Landry the story of her -marriage. She had only one motive--that this man should not think her -worse than she was. She felt that if he could be brought to see _why_ -she had done this and that, he would no longer blame her. She wished to -make him see how inevitable it had all been. - -She began with the day that Lawrence had come to her room to kill -himself. She and Miss Waters had tended him with frightened assiduity -all the afternoon, but in vain. His malady was beyond their reach. His -malady was despair. He had been through an experience that day which -had wrecked his soul. The doctor had told him that he was going blind, -and that nothing could prevent it. - -Terror had seized him. He had thought at once of the only person he knew -who was capable of sustained and disinterested kindness, and he had fled -to Rosaleen, to die in her compassionate presence. His attempt, however, -wasn’t successful, whether from lack of knowledge or from reluctance -even he himself never knew. He hadn’t really harmed himself at all; the -blood-letting seemed in fact to make him feel better, to clear his -brain. He could perfectly well have got up and walked off at any moment, -but he preferred to lie with closed eyes, savouring his anguish. And -permitting an exquisite sense of consolation to creep into his soul. - -Rosaleen and Miss Waters worked desperately over him; they washed his -face with cold water again and again. They made tea for him, and toast, -and the smell of the toast revived him. He ate it, mournfully, still -with his eyes closed. They bathed his forehead with Rosaleen’s cherished -“Florida water.” Once Miss Waters laid her cottony-white head on his -chest, to listen to his heart, but being too modest to unbutton his -waistcoat, she didn’t obtain much information. However, she knew it was -the thing to do, and it impressed Rosaleen. - -He lay there for two days; a most embarrassing situation. Miss Waters -came to stop with Rosaleen, and they slept on the floor of the studio, -because Rosaleen said it might make him think he was causing trouble if -they pulled the other cot out of the room where he lay. The thought of -causing trouble, however, was not one of Lawrence’s worries. He would -wake up in the night and groan, so horribly that Rosaleen and Miss -Waters would cling to each other and weep. He asked for wines and -delicacies which they could ill afford. But his selfishness made him all -the more appealing to Rosaleen. - -On the third day, late in the afternoon, he got up, bathed, shaved, and -dressed. Rosaleen disposed him in the wing chair, and went to the corner -to fetch cigarettes for him. - -“What would you like for dinner?” she asked. - -He said he didn’t care; anything nice.... - -“Won’t you take something now?” she entreated. “A nice hot cup of -cocoa?” - -“No; not cocoa.” - -He sighed and once more closed his eyes, which frightened Rosaleen. - -“What _can_ I do for you?” she asked. - -“Stay near me!” he said. “Don’t leave me alone!” - -“Of course I won’t!” she answered. - -He stayed there in the studio for nearly three weeks, sitting about in -his dressing gown, smoking and reading. One day he ordered a taxi and -sent Rosaleen to the flat where he had been living, to fetch him a long -list of things, including his painting materials, and when she returned, -he set up his easel and began to work. - -“I may have six months more, you know,” he said. “I can see almost as -well as ever now. The colours aren’t quite so clear, perhaps....” - -Rosaleen was delighted to see him taking an interest in something; she -had for so long looked upon him as an invalid, almost unable to move, -for whose recovery she was more or less responsible. She felt that this -new interest in his work might serve to rouse him from that apathy which -so distressed and alarmed her. She sat watching him, with affection, -with admiration. He was singing to himself, in a deep, growling basso, -and working just as she had seen him working in his studio -downstairs.... When suddenly he flung down the brushes and fell on his -knees, so heavily that the room shook. - -“Oh, my God!” he cried. “I can’t bear it! I can’t live!... It’s going -from me!... Oh, let me die! Let me die...!” - -She had rushed across the room and was on her knees beside him. - -“Lawrence!” she cried. “Dear Lawrence! Don’t give way! Don’t take it so -hard! They say that bl--that people who can’t see are very happy. You’ll -find other things--all _sorts_ of other things--to interest you!” - -“Be quiet!” he cried, sternly. “Don’t dare to tell me such things!” - -He rose heavily to his feet and went over to the window. - -“If it had come at once!” he said. “If everything had been blotted out -at one stroke, I could have endured it.... But to see it coming on, to -know what’s going to happen.... No!” he cried, suddenly. “I _won’t_ -stand it! I won’t try!” - -For weeks Rosaleen had no other thought but to try to comfort him. She -was glad to use what remained of her five hundred dollars to buy him the -things he wanted. His tastes were luxurious, above all, in matters of -eating and drinking; he liked quail or sweetbreads for breakfast, and -for dinner exotic things of which she had never heard before. And he -wished a glass of good white port every day with his lunch. And what he -asked for she got, if it were in any way possible. - - -II - -She made no attempt to explain to Landry her reasons for marrying -Lawrence. It had been with her purely a spiritual matter, a valiant -effort at consoling him. The material aspects of the thing didn’t -trouble her; she didn’t even regard it as a sacrifice. She knew that she -didn’t love him as she had loved Nick Landry; she had felt for him only -that kindly affection she was ready to feel for any human creature. But -she believed that in marrying him she would be doing something worthy, -something of use; that she would be serving God. - -Lawrence didn’t know this; he honestly believed that Lawrence Iverson, -even if he were blind and penniless, was a brilliant match for Rosaleen. - -They were married at City Hall, with no friend present except Miss -Waters, who wept all the time, and they went back to the studio, to take -up their joint life there without any sort of festivity, any -celebration. Lawrence had said that he could not stand it, that he was -in no mood for that sort of thing; but as a matter of fact, he was -ashamed of Rosaleen. He would have been proud to be her lover, but he -was ashamed to be her husband. He didn’t mention that he was married to -anyone; there were no announcements sent out, no notice in the paper. -No one sent a present, except Miss Waters; no one came to call upon -Rosaleen. - -Lawrence had been just emerging from Bohemianism to the respectability -of success. He had lived with order and comfort; he had been invited -about, flattered, more or less “lionized.” But he was not yet really -established; he had no solid footing in that upper world, that “society” -he so worshipped. He had no prestige to give Rosaleen, even if he had -wished to do so. As a matter of fact, he carefully concealed the fact of -his marriage from all these people. - -The first invitation he got after the wedding was to a tea. - -“You haven’t got anything suitable to wear,” he told her. “I’ll have to -go alone.” - -After establishing this precedent, he found it quite easy. He never -suggested her accompanying him. - -He was still fairly nice to Rosaleen in those days, although he was -beginning to grow exasperated with her. She insisted upon being always -his servant; never his friend, his comrade. She was always constrained; -she never talked freely about what interested her; instead she was -forever anxious to hearten and encourage Lawrence, to “draw him out”; -she pretended to be interested in what interested him. He knew that she -was prepared to endure everything, to forgive everything, out of -compassion, and it was intolerable. He could never reach her; he could -never make any sort of impression upon her; the coarsest talk made no -stain on her heart, no evil knowledge could disturb her; she was -incorruptible, by reason of her divine stupidity. - -His gentleness vanished; he allowed himself to be as irritable as he -pleased. He could still see well enough, but he had been forbidden to -use his eyes, and he was like a caged animal. He used to walk up and -down the studio, groaning. - -“How are we going to live?” he demanded, one day. - -“I think I can get work,” said Rosaleen, promptly, “if you won’t mind -being left alone part of the time?” - -“Do it then! Do it!” he cried. - -She tried, she tried faithfully, but her work was no longer good. She -was too anxious to please. A blight had settled on her, her fancy was -destroyed, her developing facility with her pencil was checked, and she -had not had sufficient experience to go on without thought or effort, -like a machine. She made next to nothing; and the day came, inevitably, -when there was no money left. Lawrence had come home from somewhere in a -taxi, and there hadn’t been enough in his pocket to pay the tariff. He -had come upstairs to ask Rosaleen for three dollars. - -She had handed him a five dollar bill. - -“It’s all I have,” she said. “All I have to buy dinner with....” - -“_What!_” he bellowed. “No more? What do you do with what you earn? Eh?” - -“I don’t earn very much, Lawrence. And I use it to pay for things----” - -He went down and paid the chauffeur. Then he re-entered the room and -went over to the table where she was working. He snatched up the card -she had been painting--three fat robins on a telephone wire, with nine -gold bells underneath bearing the letters of MERRY XMAS. - -“Painting?” he said. “_This is painting_, eh? Good God!... _This_ going -on in the room with _me_!... Rosaleen, you are no longer an artist. It’s -too blasphemous!” - -He picked up her four cherished camel’s hair brushes and snapped them -into bits; then he tore up her cards and took up all the debris he had -made, together with her paint box and her blocks of paper, and threw it -all out of the window. - -“Finished!” he said. “Go back to your pots and pans, wench, and leave -such matters to your betters!” - - -III - -It had seemed to her sometimes that he was not a human being at all. She -was not able to tell what was buffoonery and what was real. If there -were anything real in him.... It filled her with despair; she wondered -if she had really done him any good. And when she doubted that, there -was no foundation left for her life. If it hadn’t helped him, then all -her misery was in vain, the terrible years which stretched before her -would be filled with a pain quite useless, quite barren. - -Her health began to fail. The irregular life, the fantastic meals -Lawrence insisted upon, the noisy parties which kept her up night after -night until almost dawn, the unceasing anxiety and unhappiness were too -much for her. She did her very best; she was kind, patient, and loyal; -she struggled to stifle her dreadful regrets, her disillusionment, she -clung desperately to the one belief that kept her from absolute despair, -the belief that she was indispensable, that Lawrence needed her and -could not do without her. - -He had singularly few friends. He knew almost every artist of -reputation, but casually. He had been engrossed in his desire to enter -society, and he hadn’t troubled much with his colleagues. His chief -object in “entering society” had been to find a rich wife; and although -he knew that any such thing would now have been impossible, still he -blamed Rosaleen in his heart. - -At last he had started this infernal “borrowing.” And Rosaleen had -consented. It outraged her pride, her self-respect, her dignity; but it -didn’t seem _wicked_ to her. She thought that perhaps it was her duty to -sacrifice this pride and self-respect for the sake of her husband. One -man after the other.... - -Landry interrupted her. - -“Didn’t they ever make love to you?” he asked, brutally. “Didn’t they -expect anything in return? Or were they all fools--like me?” - -“I hardly _know_!” she said, wearily. “I never bothered.... I only had -to get money....” - -“Which you knew you couldn’t repay. That didn’t bother you either, did -it?” - -“Yes, it did! But I always hoped and hoped that some day I could, in -some way. Mr. Landry, what was I to _do_?” - -“There are women who’d rather die than be dishonourable.” - -Her pale face flushed again. - -“I wouldn’t have done it for myself,” she said. “I wouldn’t have thought -of such a thing.... But I _couldn’t_ let Lawrence want!” - -Landry stood up. - -“Listen to me, Rosaleen!” he said. “There’s just one hope for you. -Either you leave this demoralising, degrading atmosphere at -once--or----” - -“Or what?” she asked, with interest. - -“Or else I’m done with you.” - -She shook her head sadly. - -“No,” she said. “It’s no use talking like that. I shouldn’t dream of -leaving him, ever. I only wanted you to understand. I couldn’t bear for -you not to. But I see that you don’t. Do you, Mr. Landry?” - -“I don’t know!” he said, miserably. - -They were silent for a very long time. The ceiling shook from the -dancing feet in the studio overhead, but no sound reached them. They -were completely isolated in there, behind the drawn red curtains. At -last Rosaleen looked up. - -“_Anyway_,” she said. “I think the best thing is--not to see each other -any more.” - -She waited. - -“Don’t _you_?” she asked. - -He regarded her, the unhappy wife, the victim of so many peoples’ -selfishness, and it suddenly occurred to him that after all, she wasn’t -much more than a young girl. Only twenty-four.... The thought startled -him. She was so young, so friendless, and yet so strong. She hadn’t -gone under, she was not destroyed. What did that wretched “borrowing” -amount to anyway? How had he dared reproach her with it?... He felt as -if he could never take his eyes from that worn face, with its beautiful -honesty and benevolence. After all, there must be some force in her -forlorn youth that was greater than intellect, more irresistible than -beauty, something indestructible, beyond his comprehension.... - -He turned away, dazzled by his vision. - -“Yes,” he said. “It _is_ best!” - - - - -CHAPTER FOUR - - -I - -Rosaleen went upstairs to the studio, where the party was still going -on. It didn’t seem possible; she felt as if days had gone by, almost as -if she were a ghost coming back from another world. Nothing had -happened, and yet everything had changed. Still the same row, the same -love-making, the same hectic gaiety. Apparently no one had noticed her -hours’ absence; she didn’t count, anyway, except to Mr. Brindell, and he -had long ago gone home. - -She went on with her superfluous hospitality. She was neither sleepy nor -tired, nor was she in any way annoyed by the prolongation of the party. -She was willing to continue indefinitely, winding up the phonograph, -filling glasses, now and then dancing with a solitary man; she was in a -waking dream, completely indifferent to the real world about her. - - -II - -Lawrence was sleeping soundly. Very cautiously Rosaleen got up and -barefooted made her way across the dusty floor of the studio to a chair -near the window. - -It was very early, not yet five o’clock; before her lay the Square, -lonely and calm under a pallid sky across which filmy white clouds went -flying. She could see, faintly, the strong white arch and beyond it the -long, misty avenue, where the rows and rows of lights still gleamed. Her -mind was working rapidly and futilely, spinning like a wheel in a void. -She saw everything, observed everything, with remarkable vividness. She -heard two men’s voices come suddenly out of the early morning quiet, -talking loudly in Italian, they began abruptly, from nowhere, with a -ringing sound of footsteps; they disappeared as abruptly and left the -square as quiet as before. - -Yes; of course! It was Nick Landry she wanted to think about, that dear -boy with his quiet laugh that was balm to her soul after the sneers, the -guffaws, the hysteric shrieks she was obliged to hear every day. Nick -with his fastidious ways, his reserve so like her own, with his divine -youth.... She recalled with a smile his lean, dark face, his quick -frown, his voice, his gestures. She allowed herself to dwell upon him, -to think of him with undisguised tenderness and pain, because it was her -farewell to him. He was like herself. He would not come any more. He -was like herself; they would not meet again; he felt as she did, about -this, and about all other things. The _difference_ between him and all -these others with their Right to Love, their Right to Happiness, their -Right to One’s Own Life! Both Nick and herself considered above all the -Right of Other People to exist unmolested--Lawrence’s Rights, for -instance.... - -Lawrence had shouted with laughter over those cheques from Nick. He had -called him a sentimentalist. He said, and Ambrose Matthews said, and -Enid said, and so many of the others said, that sentimentality was the -curse of the world; that muddle-headed, unreasoning sentimentality was -what ruined people’s lives. That the thing to be desired, the great -panacea, was clear-sightedness, was enlightened self-interest. And yet -Lawrence existed through her sentimentality and that of the -good-humoured fellows who had lent their money. It was sentimentality -which had caused Nick to help them, which now caused them to part.... - -Rosaleen observed that this fiercely scorned and detested sentimentality -very often caused people to act with the greatest nobility. While -common-sense and enlightened self-interest seemed frequently to bring -forth incredible baseness. - -She thought of things quite new to her; she saw life in a new, a larger -way. She saw the desolate and bitter goal toward which her road led; and -she was ready to set out on that road. It was the high moment of her -life. It was the great triumph of her spirit, so horribly wounded, so -valiant. - - * * * * * - -She was startled by the harsh voice of Lawrence, and turning she saw him -standing in the doorway of the back room, in his dressing gown. - -“What the devil are you doing?” he asked. “Why did you get up at this -time? It’s just struck five.” - -“Nothing,” said Rosaleen. “Just--thinking. I couldn’t get to sleep -again. I thought I’d like to sit by the window and get some air....” - -He laughed. - -“I see!” he said. “Well, it’s as good a time as any other for a little -chat--a little explanation.” - -He groped his way in and sat down. - -“Now, then!” he said. “Suppose you tell me where you went with that -fellow last evening, eh?” - -She was startled. She hadn’t thought he had noticed. He had said -nothing, even when all the people had gone and they were alone together. - -“Oh.... Just downstairs to the tea room!” - -“And why?” - -“Oh ... to talk quietly!” - -“To borrow money?” - -“No.” - -“Why not? We have nothing in the house. Why didn’t you borrow?” - -“I--didn’t want to.” - -“Why not? Has the worm turned?” - -“I didn’t ask him.” - -“Just philandering, eh? Noble, high-minded philandering? A few tears and -so on, for him to pity you? So that he’ll pay without being asked? -Hypocrite! Coward! Oh, you cheap, cheap worthless little coward!” - -“Lawrence!” she said. “Don’t be so unkind!” - -“You’re not unkind, are you? Eh? You try to make a fool of me in the -most charitable possible way. Eh? It doesn’t touch my heart, fair -Rosaleen, because I don’t care a fig for you, but I have still a vestige -of pride left! Enough to _curse_ you!” he ended, with sudden ferocity. - -“Lawrence! You musn’t say that! You know I don’t make a--You know that -I’m--loyal to you, always.” - -“You lie. You sit there and tell that puppy how badly I treat you. He -thinks you’re a martyr and I’m a bully. I’ve seen it this long time. The -next time you see him you’ll recount _this_ scene, eh?” - -“He’s gone. I’m not going to see him again.” - -He laughed again. - -“Gone, eh? Why? He got sick of you, I suppose. Who wouldn’t?” - -“He _didn’t_ get sick of me!” said Rosaleen, quietly, but with a -quivering lip. - -“Ah!... Of course not!... He thought it was his duty to go? That’s the -way those good little boys get themselves out of an awkward situation.” - -“No!” said Rosaleen. “I--wanted him to go.” - -“But it wasn’t _very_ hard to get rid of him, was it?” - -“Yes! Yes! It was!” she cried. - -“Then why did you do it, may I ask? His money was extremely useful.” - -“Lawrence!” she cried, in a sort of despair. “Don’t you realise that all -people aren’t--like that? Don’t you know that there are some _good_ -people?” - -“You mean yourself, I take it. You want me to realise how much better -you are than me? Is that the idea?” - -“No,” she said. “I didn’t mean myself. I meant him ... Mr. Landry. There -_are_--good people. _He_ is good.” - -“Do you love him?” - -She was amazed and shocked. - -“Do you?” he asked again. - -She thought for a moment, and then she said, “No!” For it was not the -love Lawrence meant. - -“Do you love _me_?” - -“I--I don’t know, Lawrence....” - -“Then why, may I ask, do you stay with me?” - -“I--because I--want to do what is right. I want to be--loyal.... I want -to--to help you.” - -“You don’t. You’re not really any use at all. You’re so slow and -thick-witted. You can’t even make a living. You borrow money for me, it -is true, but that’s not so hard. I could do that better alone. I’ve only -endured you out of pity, because if I turned you out, you’d starve to -death--or, as they say in the books--you would meet with ‘worse than -death.’ You’ve no character.” - -“You’re going too far!” she cried. “I can’t stand everything!” - -“Oh, yes, you can! Instead of pride, you’ve got your sanctimonious -self-satisfaction. You cry instead of hitting back.” - -She clenched her hands and stood, with blazing cheeks, and passionately -beating heart, fighting to keep silent. - -“I _won’t_ hurt him!” she told herself. “He’s blind and lonely. No -matter what he says, I’ll remember that I’m all he has in the world, and -that he needs me. I _won’t_ say anything that will hurt him!” - -“What are you doing now?” he asked. “Praying? That’s right. Pray for a -pure heart and then ask for a little money, while you’re about it.” - -There was a long pause. - -“Well,” she said cheerfully, at last. “Let’s not quarrel, Lawrence! -Shall we have breakfast?” - -“A little less of the martyr, if you don’t mind. I suppose it’s as -refreshing as a Turkish bath, isn’t it, to feel that you’ve given up all -for duty?” - -“But I don’t like it!” he cried, suddenly, in a voice that startled her. -“Your renunciations and your nobilities and your resignations, and all -the rest of your bag of tricks, nauseate me. I don’t really believe I -can stand you any more.” - -He lumbered over to the window and threw it open. Rosaleen flung herself -upon him in terror, imagining that he was going to throw himself out. -But he pushed her away violently. - -“Taxi!” he bawled, in a voice that reverberated through the street. -“Taxi!” - -The horrible, bellowing voice filled Rosaleen with panic fear. - -“Please, _please_ don’t!” she entreated. “Please, please, please don’t! -Lawrence! I’ll telephone for a cab! Oh, _please_ do come in!” - -But he bawled again. - -“Taxi!” - -And a voice below answered him. - -“Hey! Keep calm! Here y’are!” - -“Wait!” said Lawrence, and drew himself into the room again. - -“Lawrence, what are you going to do!” she cried. - -“Get dressed!” he said, “and be quick about it!” - -She began to put on her clothes with cold and trembling hands. By the -time she had finished, he was quite dressed and fumbling at the familiar -hook for his overcoat and hat. Then he pulled down Rosaleen’s jacket. - -“Here!” he said. “Put this on!” - -“Oh, Lawrence!” she cried. “What----” - -He lurched over to her and flung the jacket round her shoulders, and -grasped her fiercely by the arm. - -“Come on!” he said, with a laugh. - -“Where?” she cried, but he did not answer. - -He shut her into the cab, and spoke in a low tone to the driver; then he -climbed in beside her, and they started off. - -“Lawrence!” she entreated. “Don’t do anything you’ll be sorry for! -Please, Lawrence, tell me where we’re going!” - -But he never said a word. He lighted a cigar and leaned back, smoking, -with a smile on his face. - -She shook him frantically, she implored him; a great terror had taken -possession of her. She tried to open the door and jump out; she didn’t -care if she were killed, so long as she could escape from this horribly -smiling man. But he pulled her back with an oath. - -They went on and on; she didn’t notice where. At last they stopped -before a house and Lawrence got out, pulling her after him; he stumbled -up the steps and rang the bell. He stood there waiting, still grasping -Rosaleen by the arm, hatless, shivering in the cold mist. At last the -door was opened by a servant. - -“Here’s a lady to see Mr. Landry!” cried Lawrence, and with a push he -sent Rosaleen stumbling inside. Then---- - -“I give you back your sacrifice!” he called, with a laugh, and was gone, -slamming the door behind him. She could hear him shouting with laughter -all the way down the steps. - - -III - -Rosaleen stood where she had fallen against the hat rack, while the maid -stared at her. She couldn’t speak or move; it came across her mind that -perhaps she was dying.... - -“You better sit down!” said the girl, moved by compassion. “You look -sick!” - -Rosaleen sank into a carved chair with an enormously high back; and the -maid, on her way upstairs to fetch Mr. Landry, looked back and saw her -there, erect, her feet modestly crossed, her trembling hands resting on -the arms. - -But when Nick came rushing down, she had gone. - - - - -BOOK FOUR: THE HONOURABLE LOVERS - - - - -CHAPTER ONE - - -I - -An afternoon of unparalleled gloominess. It had been dark all the day -long, and now toward evening a savage rain had come on, driven by a cold -March wind. In his rain-coat and waterproofed boots he could in a way -defy the storm, but it affected him nevertheless; it depressed him -horribly. - -He had been on his way home, a bit earlier than usual, sitting in the -Elevated train and staring morosely out of the window at the drenched -city, finding it uglier, colder, more sordid than ever before. When that -curious impulse seized him, that longing he knew so well; it was a sort -of spiritual thirst, an intangible desire to be assuaged by an -intangible satisfaction. He got out of the train at Thirty-Eighth -Street, instead of at Seventy-Second, where he belonged, and hurried -east. - -His destination was a little restaurant on Fourth Avenue, a compromise -between the severe, white tiled cafeterias and Dairy Lunches, and the -more luxurious sort. It had separate tables and table cloths, curtains -across the windows and a carpet on the floor. But was, nevertheless, -very cheap, and, it must be admitted, somewhat nasty. Not the place one -would have picked out for a man as prosperous, as fastidious as this -one. - -It was very early, and the place was empty. He opened the glass door and -entered, went at once to a table in a corner and took off his dripping -hat and his overcoat and hung them on a brass hat-rack beside which -stood a great Japanese jar for umbrellas. A man of thirty-five or so, -with a neat black moustache and a dark and saturnine face, well-dressed, -in a conservative sort of way. - -He didn’t sit down when he had taken off his coat; he remained standing, -looking about him. And in a moment a waitress came hurrying over to him, -a hollow-cheeked, brown haired young woman of thirty, her fragile grace -encased in a stiffly-starched white apron. - -“Hello!” she said, with a serious smile. - -“Hello!” he answered. “I felt I had to see you.... How _are_ you?” - -“All right, thank you! What will you have?” - -“Sit down for a while!” he said. “It’s too early to eat. Anyway I’ll -have to go home for dinner.” - -“You must take something!” she said. “They won’t like it if you just -sit here without ordering.” - -He picked up the menu, but after a frowning scrutiny, threw it down. - -“Anything that’s not too poisonous,” he said. “And hurry back, Rosaleen, -before the place begins to fill up.” - -She returned presently with her tray, set his dishes before him, and sat -down opposite him, leaning her elbows on the table and her chin in her -hands. - -“You must have known I wanted to see you to-day!” she said. - -“Don’t you always?” - -“Yes, of course. But specially to-day. Because little Petey’s sick, and -I wanted to talk to you about it.” - -“Have you had a doctor?” - -“Yes; but I don’t like him. I don’t think he’s much good. I want a -better one.” - -“I’ll see you get one.... What’s the trouble?” - -“Fever,” she said. “And headache, and he’s sick all the time.... Poor -little fellow!” - -She stared ahead of her with troubled eyes. - -“I can’t help being worried,” she went on. “The doctor says it’s just a -bilious attack, but he’s been sick for four days, and he seems to be -growing worse. Katie’s dreadfully upset.... I did wish I could speak to -_you_.” - -“Why didn’t you telephone or write?” - -She shook her head. - -“I wouldn’t like to do that!” she said. “But I did hope you’d come -soon.” - -It was curious that they practically never looked at each other, these -two. The proprietress, who had witnessed this friendship for the past -five years, and with favor, because of the trade it brought, had often -observed that. She had so often seen them sitting thus, at a table, -looking past each other, and not speaking very much. It was her theory -that they met outside, and that the man was a millionaire with a jealous -wife, and that he adored her waitress. A romantic and delightful theory; -she was not above recounting it as a true tale to certain friends. And -it was especially nice because this most flattering attention didn’t at -all unsettle Rosaleen; she was invariably prompt, careful and -good-tempered, a little aloof, but that was no fault. - -He didn’t touch his dinner to-night. He got up and thrust his arms into -his overcoat again. - -“Telephone to Doctor Denz as soon as you go out,” he said. “I’ll stop on -my way home and arrange with him.... Try not to worry, old girl.... And -you could telephone me at the office to-morrow, if you wanted.” - -“Thank you, Mr. Landry!” she answered. - -As he always did, he put the money for his meal and the tip under his -plate in a guilty way, and went off. But at the door he turned again, -and raised his hat. And Rosaleen returned a slight wave of the hand. - - -II - -It was a day marked by Fate as an important one--as the beginning of a -new phase. Landry, however, was not in the least aware of this. He went -on his way, absorbed in thought, still very serious, but unreasonably -consoled, as he always was by these absurd and inarticulate interviews -with Rosaleen. - -He still lived in his aunt’s house. He had, as he became more -prosperous, made an attempt to set up an individual establishment with -his mother and sister, but they didn’t like New York; they weren’t happy -there; they pined for Charleston, and he had sent them back. And, in -spite of his independence and his fastidious bachelor habits, he was -very much alarmed at the idea of setting up for himself. He had -pretended to his aunt and to himself that he wished to find a cosy -little flat and a good valet, but he had never really looked for either. -His aunt wished for nothing better than to keep him with her forever, -the house revolved about him; he had a bedroom and a study, and he was -waited upon like a Sultan. - -By minute degrees and in a quite incomprehensible manner, he had become -accountable to his cousin Caroline. If he came in late, he explained to -her why, and where he had been. If he went to a dance or a dinner -without her, he returned prepared to give her all the details. He even -made an effort to observe and remember things about which he knew he -would be asked. - -Caroline was now twenty-seven, and as far as ever from getting married. -She was a chilly, languid young Southron with a pallid, freckled face -and beautiful fine gold hair; she had a sort of frigid charm which -sufficed to attract men, but which couldn’t hold them. She had -innumerable “beaux,” but she had never had a man seriously in love with -her. It was a severe misfortune for her; she had no other aim, no other -interest in life except marriage; her days were becoming flat and weary -beyond toleration to her, and a fatal resentment against men was -creeping over her. Her cousin Nick was perfectly well aware that she -would have married him if he had offered, but that did not flatter him, -because there were several others whom she would just as soon have had, -and at least one whom she would have preferred. He certainly didn’t -love Caroline; he didn’t even admire her, but he had for her a genuine -enough sort of brotherly affection and a small secret fear. He was never -quite sure what she would do. - -Everything went just as usual during dinner that evening; there was the -same effort to entertain and distract the man which he had grown to -consider a matter of course. If either his aunt or Caroline had sat at -the table preoccupied or melancholy, he would have resented it deeply. -Even a headache, if it permitted the sufferer to appear at all, must be -accompanied by a wan smile and an air of interest. Then after dinner -they went into the library, and as usual his aunt implored him not to -work, but to rest and amuse himself, and complained that they saw so -little of him. He was distrait, though, and anxious to get away to his -little study where he could think in peace; he excused himself on the -plea of work, and was making his escape when Caroline beckoned him into -the little music room. - -“Come here, Nickie!” she called, imperiously. - -He obeyed, and she made him sit down beside her on the sofa. - -“Ah’ve been hearing tales about you!” she said severely. - -He smiled at her. - -“Let’s have them!” - -“Jim saw you. Ah’m shocked!... He was over on Fou’th Avenue last week, -surveying, and he says he stopped in at a funny little place there for a -bite of lunch. And there he saw you in a corner with one of the -waitresses----” - -“Pshaw!” said Nick. “If that’s the worst he can do----” - -“He said she was a right pretty girl. And sitting down at the table with -you....” - -“Very likely. Why not?” - -Now Caroline had considered this tale of absolutely no importance, when -she began. She had simply wished to bring it up so that they might have -a little gallant badinage. But now it looked otherwise. Nick was really -annoyed, and something more than annoyed. He evidently wished to get -away from her and not to speak of this episode. Nick and a _waitress_! -It hardly seemed credible; and yet Caroline was ready to believe the -worst where men were concerned. - -She went over to the piano and began to play; her one sure refuge from -any difficult situation, and while she played, Nick slipped out of the -room. He was curiously disturbed. This was the first time in five years -that anyone had got word of his interviews with Rosaleen. He shrank with -passionate sensitiveness from any intrusion into this secret world, -this intangible, ineffable companionship. - -Five years! He lighted a cigar and sat down to contemplate it, with -pain, with limitless regret, and yet finding a sweet consolation in -their silent fidelity. - -For five years he had had to watch Rosaleen living that barren and -difficult life.... - -He recalled that day, when the parlourmaid had waked him up to tell him -that there was “a lady downstairs to see you, sir.” A hatless, very pale -lady, who had been pushed in at the door by a man who immediately -disappeared. There was no trace of her when he got downstairs; he had -gone out on the front steps in his dressing gown to look up and down the -street, but without seeing anything. Directly he was dressed, he had -gone to Lawrence, and Lawrence had lied impudently and borrowed money. -He had said he didn’t know where Rosaleen had gone, or why, or if she -would ever return. - -He recalled his tremendous two weeks’ battle with Miss Waters. Day after -day he had gone to entreat her, to bully, to cajole, to trick her into -giving him Rosaleen’s address. And she had always wept bitterly and -refused. - -“I _promised_ her I wouldn’t tell _anyone_!” she said, over and over. -“And you above all! Oh, Mr. Landry! I can’t!” - -“Don’t you trust me?” he had demanded. “Do you think I’d annoy or -persecute Rosaleen?” - -“Of course I don’t!” - -“If you’re really her friend,--if you’re thinking of her welfare, you’ll -tell me where she is. She may need help.” - -In the end he made use of a shameful device--a theatric threat which -even now made him blush. He told Miss Waters that if she wouldn’t help -him to see Rosaleen, he was going to kill himself; he had even brought -an old revolver with him. And to save the life of this young hero, Miss -Waters had told him the name of the restaurant where Rosaleen worked. - -He recalled his first visit there; how he had sat at one of the tables, -watching Rosaleen hurrying about, taking orders, carrying her heavy -tray, submissive and alert.... - -He had waited outside for her for hours. But she wouldn’t let him take -her home. - -“I’m living with a married sister,” she had told him. “I’m perfectly all -right there. But I don’t want _you_ to come there, Mr. Landry!” - -They had walked down Fourth Avenue and over into Madison Square Park, -where they had wandered for hours that windy Autumn night. She had -spoken quite freely about her own people, about her mother in -Philadelphia, about this sister, the only member of the family with whom -she had kept in touch. She was married to a shipping clerk, and there -were three small children, the youngest of whom was Petey. And they were -very poor. - -“You must let me help you!” said Nick. “There’s no reason--no sense in -your living this way.” - -“No,” she said, very resolutely. “I wouldn’t! Not for _anything_! I dare -say you didn’t believe me when I told you--that time--that for myself I -wouldn’t have thought of--borrowing. But it was true. I’d rather be as -poor as poor, and be independent. And have my self-respect.” - -“But you don’t want to go on like this? Being a--waitress, and living -like this. You don’t want to lose all that you’ve gained--to slip out of -the class where you belong....” - -“I don’t belong to any class,” she answered. “That’s the whole trouble. -I don’t belong anywhere. I wish I’d been let alone. I wish I’d stayed -like Katie.” - -“But you----” he began, and ended by murmuring something about -“education” and “advantages.” - -“What good does it do?” she asked. “I’m not happy and I’m not useful. -And in my heart I don’t want anything better--or even anything -different--to what Katie wants.” - -“And what is that?” he asked. - -“Oh,--a nice home and not too much worry--and a family, I suppose,” she -answered. - -“Then you expect to go like this, indefinitely, although you admit -you’re neither happy nor useful?” - -“I am a little bit useful--to Katie.” - -“But I can’t stand it, Rosaleen, if you’re not happy. I’m going to make -you happy. I’m going to arrange for a divorce for you----” - -“No, you’re not!” she cried. “I wouldn’t have it!” - -“_Why?_” - -“Because it’s a horrid, wrong idea,” she had insisted. “With his being -blind--and everything....” - -You could never argue with that confounded woman. She never listened to -the voice of reason; she listened to something else--God knows what. And -every act in her life had to be in conformity with this subtle and rigid -authority. She never thought, she never puzzled, about what was right -and what was wrong; she simply knew at once, by instinct. And that was -the end of it. She lived by the rule of a beautiful propriety; she -would never do anything which did not befit her. - -Nick had given up, long ago. And now, he had almost come to believe that -her way, if not _the_ right way, was certainly one of the right ways of -living, and that Rosaleen divorced would not have been quite Rosaleen. -Sometimes, when he grew intolerably lonely for her, or when the sight of -her in her white apron flying about waiting on other men incensed and -distressed him more than usual, he would rail at her “obstinate, petty -conventionality.” But she had none the less succeeded in making him -comprehend her point of view; not with words, because she was not gifted -with speech, but in some way of her own, her feeling that in divorcing -Lawrence and marrying Nick she would lose her own especial quality. - -“It’s all right for lots of people,” she said. “I haven’t got any -particular prejudice against it. It’s only a _feeling_.... I--well, I -just _can’t_, that’s all.” - - - - -CHAPTER TWO - - -I - -It was a well-known thing in that household that Nick required a long -time to dress. He had come home from the office promptly at six and had -gone at once to his room, where, as he had expected, his evening clothes -were laid ready for him. He was to take Mrs. Allanby and Caroline to a -dinner at the house of one of his senior partners, and it was an -altogether particular and important occasion. Caroline was wearing a new -dress, of which he thoroughly approved; she had been ready when he came -home, so that he could see it and pass judgment. Mrs. Allanby was still -dressing; she was, in spite of her fifty years, a lady of no little -quiet coquetry, and on this occasion she had a two-fold desire to look -her best, first, because she so valued her nephew’s approbation, and -second because she was very anxious to impress upon the senior partner -how excellent a family was Nick’s. - -He had bathed and shaved, and was standing before the mirror in shirt -and trousers, tying his white tie with severe attention, when someone -knocked at his door. He was surprised, almost affronted. - -“Well!” he called. “What is it?” - -“It’s Ca’line!” - -“I’m not late! It’s not half past seven yet....” - -“No, Ah know it! But someone wants to speak to you on the telephone.” - -“Who?” - -“Ah don’t know.... A woman.... She wouldn’t tell her name. She said it -was important. Shall Ah say you’re busy and can’t come?” - -“No!” he said, hastily. “I’ll come!” - -And just as he was, hurried into the little sewing room where the -upstairs telephone was. - -“This is Landry speaking!” he said. - -And a forlorn and patient voice answered: - -“It’s me--Rosaleen.... It’s about Petey. I’m very sorry to bother you, -but I don’t know what to do, exactly.” - -“Why? Tell me!” - -“The doctor says it’s typhoid fever----” - -“By George! That’s too bad!” - -“And Katie’s.... It’s hard to tell it over the telephone.... I -_wish_--couldn’t I possibly see you just for a few minutes?” - -“Of course! I’ll be with you at once. Where are you?” - -“I’m at home,” she answered, and gave him the address she had withheld -for five years. - -Nick turned to Caroline. - -“I’ll have to go somewhere first,” he said, hurriedly. “I’ll try not to -be late for dinner. But if I am, go without me, and I’ll follow.... Just -explain to Anson----” - -“Explain what? Where are you going?” - -Indignation and disappointment had brought tears to her eyes. This -outrageous desertion was too much for her; she struggled for a moment to -hold her tongue, but she could not. - -“It’s that _waitress_!” she cried. “Ah know it! Some nasty, common, -scheming woman.... It’s a _shame_! It’s a _shame_!” - -She began to cry. - -“It’s a _shame_!” she cried again. - -Nick looked at her with frigid disgust. - -“It happens to be a--very old friend who’s in great trouble,” he said. - -“_What_ old friend? How can you have old friends here that we never -heard of?” - -He turned away from her and rang up a nearby garage for a taxi. - -“It’s a case of serious illness,” he said. - -“Do you mean to say you’re _not coming_ to that dinner?” cried -Caroline. - -“Haven’t you any--heart?” demanded her cousin. “I tell you, someone is -seriously ill....” - -“What’s it got to do with _you_!” cried Caroline. “Who is it? Why won’t -you tell me?” - -When they looked back upon that episode later, it didn’t seem -_possible_. That these two people, so dignified, so self-restrained, so -civilized, should have said what they said to each other, should have -enacted so disgraceful a scene! - -“Who is this person that’s seriously ill?” Caroline demanded, again, -with fierce contempt. - -“It’s none of your business!” said Nick. - -He was astounded, she was astounded, by such a phrase from him. - -“All right!” said she. “Go to your waitress! Ah don’t care! But Ah won’t -go to the dinner either! And Ah won’t send any word or make any excuses. -_You_ can do that to-morrow, in your office. _You_ can explain to Mr. -Anson why nobody came to his dinner party.” - -“You couldn’t _do_ such a--beastly, contemptible thing!” cried Nick in -alarm. It was the special business of women to make excuses for men; -they knew how; they had the art.... “Caroline, if you _don’t_, I’ll -never forgive you!” - -“Ah don’t give a _darn_!” she cried. “There!” - -“You’ve _got_ to go!” he said, but weakly. He couldn’t make her.... He -stood there by the telephone, white with rage, trying to think.... But -nothing came to his brain except two horribly distressing pictures; he -saw Anson and his wife and the other guests waiting, polite but -astonished and resentful.... And he saw Rosaleen, wild with anxiety, -looking out of a window for him. - -“There’s a taxi here, sir!” said a voice, and he saw the parlourmaid in -the doorway, frankly interested at this curious spectacle of Miss -Caroline in evening dress and Mr. Landry in his shirt sleeves, evidently -quarreling. - -“Yes, it’s for me!” he said, briefly. - -Without another glance at Caroline he ran into his room, hurried on his -waistcoat and dress coat, thrust on his overcoat, snatched up hat and -stick and rushed out. - -Rage burned in him. He didn’t think of Rosaleen as the taxi sped along; -he thought of Caroline, with hate, with triumph. - -“Let her go to the devil!” he said. “I _won’t be_ bullied!” - - -II - -It was a miserable place over a bakery on Third Avenue, a squalid -evil-smelling neighbourhood, with the Elevated trains thundering past. -This tall man in evening dress descending from a taxi aroused profound -interest; one bright little boy said it was movies. He entered the -narrow hallway from which the stairs ascended, steep as a ladder, and -after striking a match, saw four name plates beneath four bells. -Cohen--Moriarity--Connelly--O’Dea. - -As he hesitated before them, Rosaleen herself came hurrying down the -steep stairs. - -“I saw you coming!” she said. “Oh, Mr. Landry, I didn’t know what to do! -He’s sick--he’s very, very sick! The doctor says he’ll either have to go -to the hospital or have a nurse, and Katie won’t let him go.... She’s in -such a terrible state....” - -“Let him have a nurse, of course.” - -“But we can’t. There’s no place for a nurse to sleep. And it’s not a fit -place for little Petey, either. He ought to go to the hospital. He won’t -have any chance here. I know it’s dreadful of me, but I----” - -She had suddenly seized one of his hands with both of hers and pressed -it violently, quite distraught, quite unconscious of what she did. - -“I don’t care! I made up my mind that I _would_ ask you.... Won’t you -come upstairs and talk to Katie? You don’t know how she feels about a -hospital.... She’s only known people in the wards, where--it isn’t so -nice.... When you’re so poor, you’re--so helpless.... If you’d just tell -her that Petey’s to have a private room and a nurse and everything done -for him, and that she can see him any time she wants...? Oh, I know it -will cost a fortune! I have no right to ask you.... But I knew you’d do -it!” - -“You don’t know how glad I am to be asked,” said Nick. “Come on! Let’s -go upstairs!” - -This where she lived--where she had lived for five years! This dirty, -dilapidated hole, dark, airless, with grimy windows on a malodourous -court, with the thundering roar of the trains making the very walls -shake, with these pitiful and fragile little children always underfoot! -He had known that she was poor, that the whole family was poor, but he -had not imagined anything like this. He had never set foot in such a -place before. It filled him with horror, these mean, cramped little -quarters which the despair of poverty had left dirty and neglected. -There wasn’t a chair in that room on which he dared to sit, one had a -broken back, another a broken seat, another had a leg missing.... - -There came bursting into the room a big, gaunt woman like a fury, -desperate with grief and fright. - -“What is it ye want?” she cried, to Nick. - -Rosaleen began to whisper to her, and she became calmer, became little -by little composed and shrewd. This was a man from whom benefits might -be expected. - -“I thought maybe you were from the Board!” she explained. “’Tis them do -be worrying the likes of us whenever there is any sickness in it at -all.” - -She had been living in a very nightmare of fear; her little child was -ill and the world was conspiring to snatch it from her. She was quite -determined that it should not go. She didn’t know, poor soul, just what -awful powers the police and the health officials might have. She was -accustomed to their authority. It might be the law to take her child -away. But law or no law, she would not have it! She saw hope in this -rich friend of Rosaleen’s; she clung to him; she fawned upon him. - -She opened the door of the room where Petey lay. There was nothing in it -but two big wooden beds. Outside from the fire escape hung a line of -limp clothing fluttering in the night wind; nothing else to be seen.... -The sick baby lay motionless in the centre of one of the wide beds, -blazing with fever, his face scarlet, his brow pitifully contorted, his -eyes closed. His limp little body seemed scarcely to raise the bed -covers; his arms lay outside the counterpane, with their thin, flat -wrists, the tiny, stubby hands.... - -The mother flew over to him and tucked his arms under the blanket. - -“Do you want to catch yer death!” she cried, harshly, to the unconscious -child. - -She passed her hand over his burning head, feeling the hard, round -little skull under the fine hair. - -“He’s that hot!” she said. And suddenly began wailing. - -“Oh, he cannot live at all! Well do I know he’s to be took from me! -Petey! Oh, Petey, my darlin’!” - -Rosaleen tried to quiet her. - -“Listen, Katie dearie!” she said. “Mr. Landry’s going to help us! -Petey’s going to have a beautiful big room all to himself----” - -Her sister swore at her. - -“I will not let thim lave a hand on Petey!” she cried. “They’ll not take -him from me!” - -“Katie, you can go with him!” Rosaleen promised. “You can go to the -hospital with him and sit by him for a while, can’t she, Mr. Landry?” - -“Yes,” said Nick. “It’ll be just as Rosaleen says.” - - -III - -They had gone, Katie and her baby, in a private ambulance, and Nick had -arranged with the doctor for the child’s reception. It seemed as if a -terrible storm had come and gone, leaving an unnatural calm. He sat in -the little hole Katie called her “parlour,” with its dirty lace -curtains, its little gilt table, the two broken rocking chairs with -“tidies” fastened to their backs by stained red ribbons. - -Rosaleen tried to explain to him. She tried, in her tongue-tied way, to -draw for him a picture of all these lives. Katie, she told him, was a -wonderful woman, a wife of unlimited loyalty, a mother of passionate and -ceaseless devotion. Her husband was a shipping clerk; he had worked in -various department stores, but he was very unlucky; he was always -hurting himself, straining his back, crushing his fingers, dropping -crates on his feet. And with the three children, and big Pete laid up so -often, you could see.... - -“And I don’t make much,” she said, simply. “Sometimes we think we -_can’t_ get on. But we do.” - -She sighed, with all that dreadful resignation of hers. - -But Nick had nothing to say to that recital of hers; he sat in complete -silence for a long time. Rosaleen watched him covertly; she worshipped -him; she thought, that in his evening dress, he was the most -distinguished, the most magnificent creature she had ever seen. Oh, -there was no one like him! Her Nick, who never failed her, who always -understood her, who never took advantage of her misfortunes.... He did -not look at her; how was she to know that _he_ was worshipping _her_, -abashed and humble before her matchless compassion and unselfishness. -She suffered all things, endured all things, and was kind.... - -In squalor, poverty and incessant anxiety, she had kept her spirit -tranquil and true. Her affection which never criticised, made no -demands, seemed to him to sanctify this place. He remembered that when -he had first learned of her origin, in Miss Amy’s violent words, he had -believed himself “disillusioned”; and had been bitter and angry toward -her. That was nearly eight years ago; she was thirty now; the best of -her youth was over, had passed in cruel and thankless servitude. No -matter what happened in the future, that couldn’t be effaced, those -wrongs could never be repaired. Lawrence had exploited her shamelessly, -Miss Amy had exploited her, her sister in her blind and pitiful -motherhood would have drained her dry of blood for the benefit of her -children; he himself had repudiated and deserted her. And she had no -rancour, no bitterness even toward life in the abstract. She was simply -resigned, a little sorrowful, but brave, patient, enduring to the -uttermost end. - -He got up suddenly and held out his hand. - -“Good night!” he said, brusquely. “You’ll hear from me very soon.” - - - - -CHAPTER THREE - -I - - -He had never been so wretched before. It was the suffering of a -vigourous and obstinate man entangled in a situation in which he is -unable to move. He wished to lay everything at Rosaleen’s feet, and yet -could give her nothing. He longed to relieve her intolerable burdens, -and could not take a step toward doing so. - -And, as always when he was not able to act, anger took possession of -him. He was cool, resolute, self-controlled enough when there was -anything for him to do, but tie his hands and his blood began to boil. -His wrath began to descend upon Lawrence. He decided that he would go to -see him, to threaten, to bully, to bribe, in some way to force him to -free Rosaleen against her will. He refused to see the absurdity of this; -directly he had made the decision he felt a sort of peace, and he was -able to go home and to sleep. - -He knew very well that there must be a reckoning at home, and he -welcomed it. He wanted it. He blamed all the world for Rosaleen’s -sufferings. He wished to defend her and to fight for her. Unaccountably -and very unjustly he was angry at his aunt and at Caroline. (Or was it -perhaps that he subconsciously wished to forestall their -reproaches?).... However, he appeared at breakfast the next morning in a -most unpleasant mood. He said “Good morning!” frigidly to Mrs. Allanby, -and sat down at the table with a frown. - -“I’d like to speak to you alone for a minute, if you please!” he said. - -With a gesture his aunt dismissed the servant, and sat looking quietly -at him. - -“About last night,” he began. “I told Caroline it was a case of urgent -necessity. She couldn’t--or _wouldn’t_ understand.” - -“Ah think it would have been better to have made your excuses to Mr. -Anson,” she said, evenly. - -“I left that to--to you. You understand that sort of thing. You have so -much tact....” - -“You didn’t ask me, Nick!” - -“I hadn’t time. Good Lord! Caroline isn’t a child. She ought to -understand----” - -“Understand just what? You didn’t tell her where you were going, or why. -No! Please don’t interrupt me for a minute! Ah know you’re not -accountable to us in any way. But we were just going to that dinner for -your sake, because you asked us. And.... Ah’m disappointed in you. Ah -can’t help it!” - -“You shouldn’t be. It’s not fair. It was an urgent matter. I was worried -and upset, and perhaps I did neglect certain formalities. But under the -circumstances, you ought to make allowances.” - -“But what were the circumstances? You must remember we don’t know them.” - -He was silent; then he asked, abruptly. - -“What happened? What did you do?” - -“Ah went. Ah thought if Ca’line went, too, it might make an odd number. -Ah told Mr. Anson that an old friend of the family had met with an -accident and that you and Ca’line had gone to him.” - -“That was nice of you!” said Nick, gratefully. “Then it’s all right, is -it?” - -“As far as Mr. Anson goes. But Ah _do_ think.... Boy, you don’t know how -you worry me.” - -He looked at her, with quite his old smile. - -“No!” he said. “I will _not_ tell you! Not yet!” - - -II - -It was the first time in years that he had stopped away from his office. -But he was too sternly intent upon his new purpose to be able to think -of anything else. He sat in his study, smoking a cigar, until it seemed -to him a reasonable hour, and then set out. - -He was very nervous; more so than he realised. And his descent into that -old neighbourhood revived a hundred memories to oppress him. He fancied -he saw her ghost, its arms full of bundles, running through Fourth -Street.... - -“The best of her life wasted!” he said to himself, over and over. It -gave him courage. - -He needed courage, too. He was very much afraid of Lawrence; not, of -course, in a physical sense, but because Lawrence had any number of -mysterious advantages. Lawrence was blind and helpless, Lawrence was -Rosaleen’s lawful husband, Lawrence was infinitely more sophisticated -and subtle than himself.... A formidable adversary. He made no plan of -what he should say; with such a person it was not possible, for you -couldn’t know in what humour you would catch him. He resolved simply to -keep his temper and to flinch at nothing. - -The front door was unlatched, as it had always been in the old days; he -entered and went upstairs, knocked on the familiar door. But a strange -voice answered him, a strange young man lived in there, who knew nothing -whatever of Lawrence Iverson. - -He made a few other enquiries in the house, but without result. - -He was on his way home, walking up Fifth Avenue while he watched for his -bus, when he passed a familiar corner, and he decided to call upon Miss -Waters. She was a link with the old days. - -There at least nothing was changed. She sat as usual in the dusty old -studio, and she herself was as dusty, as wrinkled, as flustered as -before. And inordinately delighted to see him. She even wept. - -“I hardly ever see Rosaleen,” she said. “Once in a great, great while, -on a Sunday, she drops in. But I don’t blame her, poor girl! She’s so -busy and so worried.... You don’t _know_----” - -She was obliged to stop and dry her eyes. - -“You don’t know how much I miss those old days!” she said. “I always -loved Rosaleen like my own child.... Poor girl! I never saw much of her -during her married life. Her husband and I were not--very congenial. But -there’s always been such a _bond_ between us, Mr. Landry! I can’t help -saying to _you_ that I think that marriage was a mistake!” - -“Not much doubt about _that_! Do you happen to know where the--the -fellow’s gone?” - -“No. I never enquired. And I haven’t kept track of the old crowd.” - -Poor soul! Not one of the “old crowd” except Miss Mell had ever come -near her. - -“I’m not up-to-date on news of the quarter!” she said, archly. “Don’t -come to me for _that_, Mr. Landry!” - -“I didn’t. I came because I wanted to see you.” - -She was pleased; she wished that she had put her least dusty velvet bow -in her hair instead of this gnawed little thing that now perched -there.... - -Perhaps his love for Rosaleen had given Nick a more understanding heart, -or perhaps it was that he was well-disposed toward everyone associated -with the beloved woman, but from whatever cause, he saw Miss Waters that -day in a new light. He saw her not as a comic old maid, but as a quite -admirable human being. She was a plucky old girl, struggling along with -art lessons, and a wonderful friend. - -She began asking him about himself, but he became more and more -distrait. Suddenly he told her the whole story. - -She was astonished, she was profoundly touched; she wept bitterly, but -she was delighted, both because the magnificent Mr. Landry had seen fit -to confide in her, and because it was a romantic history, such as she -loved. - -“I don’t know what to do,” he said, when he had finished. “I don’t know -how to help her. Can you suggest anything?” - -And, to his surprise, she did. - -“No, of course, _you_ can’t do anything,” she said. “But if you could -only get the ladies of your family interested in her.... _They_ could do -_anything_!” - -“What could they do?” - -“Oh, they’d think of all sorts of ways, if they really wanted to help!” - -“They wouldn’t, though,” he said gloomily. “They’ve got all sorts of -prejudices....” - -“If they could see her, and get to know her, it would be all right.” - -“My aunt has seen her, you know!” - -“Yes, but don’t you see! _Now_ she’s the wife of the distinguished -artist Lawrence Iverson! Think what a difference that makes!” - -“I never thought of her--like that.... And you think they could help -her?” - -“I’m sure of it! And you know, dear Mr. Landry, people love to be -associated with Artists. As Mrs. Lawrence Iverson, you know, she’s -really a most interesting figure. Someone might be induced to set her up -in an Antique Shop, or something like that.” - -In the end they decided that Mrs. Allanby and Caroline should be -suddenly confronted with Rosaleen in this new and impressive rôle. - -“But we can’t tell Rosaleen!” said Miss Waters. “She’d never consent. -She’s so retiring. I’ll tell you what! I’ll give a studio party, next -Saturday evening, and if you’ll bring them, I’ll get Rosaleen here. Will -you?” - - -III - -Never had Miss Waters been so excited. The moment Landry had left, she -hurried out and bought a small plane. She desired that there should be -dancing at her party, and to make that possible, she would have to “do” -the studio floor. There were two pupils working in there, and it -disturbed them very much when Miss Waters got down on her hands and -knees in one corner and began to use her plane. However, it didn’t last -long. An hour’s work convinced her that the whole floor would take her -some years to finish. She employed the plane instead with great zest on -those little shelves she had put up; she smoothed them off and painted -them a very artistic orange, with a stencil of black tulips. She was, -you must know, very handy with tools.... - -Her preparations were most extensive. She spent an outrageous amount of -time and money, and she bought too much of everything. Two hundred -cigarettes, among other things, and a plethora of flowers. She made -little wreaths to put on the heads of her plaster statues, and she -painted a little card for each guest to take home as a souvenir. - - -IV - -Rosaleen had not been warned. She had come directly from the restaurant, -in her threadbare suit and her faded black hat. And to be ushered into -the midst of a chattering party of twelve or fifteen people was a -terrible ordeal to her. She turned quite pale; she stood in the doorway, -drawing off her gloves and smiling nervously. At first she didn’t quite -grasp it.... - -It startled her, too, for Miss Waters to address her as “Mrs. Iverson,” -and to present her so. At first she saw only one familiar face, and that -was Miss Mell’s, the same, stout, bespectacled friend of the old studio -days. And then suddenly she caught sight of a face from a nightmare.... -Surely that lady who had sat in the Humberts’ kitchen.... - -She was hurried forward by Miss Waters, and Mrs. Lawrence Iverson was -presented to Mrs. Allanby. Who instantly recognised her. And to Miss -Caroline Allanby, who at once knew that this was the person who had -beguiled Nick.... And Nick, who was standing behind them, and Miss -Waters, both saw immediately that the experiment had failed. The two -ladies didn’t care a fig for the wife of the distinguished artist; they -greeted her politely, but with unmistakable chilliness. There was more -in this than met the eye! They had suspected _something_ when Nick had -been so insistent about bringing them to this “studio party.” - -There were three lively rings at the door bell, and Miss Waters was glad -to hasten away to admit the latest comer. It was Miss Gosorkus, more -friendly, more exuberant than ever before. She beamed at everyone and -sat down at the side of Dodo Mell. - -“Hello, Mell!” she cried. “How are you? I haven’t seen you for ages upon -ages!... Do you remember the larks we used to have up in your old -studio?” - -Miss Mell had never been enthusiastic regarding Miss Gosorkus; she -remembered what a great nuisance she had been; she answered with -moderation. - -“And doesn’t it seem sort of sad?” Miss Gosorkus went on. “Enid gone to -live abroad, and poor Lawrence Iverson gone!” - -Everyone heard her; everyone looked up with interest. Dodo tried to -whisper a warning, but it was not heard. - -“You heard, didn’t you?” she went on. “It was the saddest thing! You -know, of course, that the poor man went blind. And then, my dear, that -heartless, awful woman he’d married deserted him. I believe she ran off -with another man.” - -“Shut up!” whispered Dodo. “Don’t you _see_ her?” - -“Who?” asked Miss Gosorkus aloud, her babyish eyes searching the room. -She didn’t recognise Rosaleen, even as a vaguely familiar face. - -“And after that,” she continued, “the poor man went to Paris, and he was -run over by a taxi. He’s been dead five years.” - - - - -CHAPTER FOUR - -I - - -Nick crossed the room and sat down beside Miss Gosorkus, scowling and -pale. - -“You’re _sure_?” he asked. - -“Sure?” she repeated, enquiringly. - -“About Iverson. About his being dead?” - -“Why, of course, I am! I....” - -“How did you hear of it?” - -“A friend of mine in Paris....” - -“Will you give me the address and let me write to her?” - -“_Him._ It’s a gentleman,” said Miss Gosorkus with a smirk. - -“Give me _his_ address then.” - -He had taken out a note-book and a fountain pen, and sat waiting while -Miss Gosorkus somewhat reluctantly gave the information. Then he got up -and looked about for Rosaleen. She was not there. He approached his -aunt. - -“Order a taxi when you’re ready to go,” he said, in a tone designed to -discourage questions. Then said good-bye curtly to Miss Waters, and -hurried off. - -It was raining fiercely when he reached the street, but he felt -nevertheless obliged to walk. He set off across the Square and up Fifth -Avenue, a solitary figure in the broad and deserted street. - -The barriers were all demolished. She was free--after all these years; -no obstacles separated them. And instead of joy, terror and alarm had -seized him. The idea of marrying her seemed monstrous. He didn’t want -to! And the more he didn’t want to, the more inexorably did he feel -obliged, compelled to do so without delay. It was a debt of honour, to -be paid instantly, without reflection. - -He was determined to follow her home to that squalid and horrible flat, -and insist upon the earliest possible wedding. She would, of course, -have all sorts of tiresome and irritating objections which he would have -to override. He would have to be masterful, resolute, fervent, and there -was nothing of that sort in him. He felt singularly cold and aloof; he -felt the strongest sort of inclination to run away from the whole -affair. He said to himself that he wanted a “chance to think it over,” -but really he did not. He wished, on the contrary, to forget it, never -to think of it again. Romance had departed from his Rosaleen. She was no -longer tragic, pitiful, inaccessible. She was nothing more or less than -a very obscure and ordinary woman whom he was in honour bound to marry. -Quite suddenly he saw his folly, the outrageous thing this was, to waste -and ruin his life through this profoundly unsuitable marriage, which -would bring him nothing but unhappiness. What was he going to do with -her? He remembered her in the studio days, shabby, worn with humiliation -and distress, he remembered the shocking scene in the Humberts’ kitchen; -he remembered her--most painful memory of all--in the restaurant, in her -white apron, carrying her big tray.... He was ashamed of her.... - -He clenched his hands as he walked along, and his face was grim and -desperate. He remembered how he had loved Rosaleen, and love appeared to -him as something intangible and silly. What the devil did it amount to? -_Why_ must he do this? He had got on very well without her thus far.... -Now he would have to change his life completely; he would have to leave -his comfortable quarters at his aunt’s and go off to live somewhere -alone with Rosaleen. As he was prepared to make this immense sacrifice -for her, he felt justified in dwelling upon the small and intolerable -details. What would his friends say, his business associates?... He -would be ashamed of her.... Barren and disgusting duty, flat and insipid -beyond measure.... - -He had reached the house on Third Avenue and entered it, rang the bell -in the vestibule and ascended the dirty stairs, in the dark and the foul -air. Katie opened the door for him, and admitted him grudgingly, almost -with hostility. She did not like him, and, like Rosaleen, her favour was -not to be won by benefits. No matter what he did for her and for her -family, she would _never_ like him, because he was condescending and -superior. She took him into the parlour, and he sat there for an hour, -quite alone, with one dim, ghastly jet of gas burning inside a fluted -blue china globe. At intervals the elevated trains came rushing past, -and blotted out every other sound and perception from his startled and -affronted brain; then in the lull he would hear Katie’s voice in the -kitchen talking to the little children. It was ten o’clock, but there -was no air of its being bedtime, or evening. The woman was still -working, the children still playing; one might have imagined their days -to be endless. - -Sickened and depressed, and utterly disheartened, Landry got up. - -“Please tell Rosaleen I’ll come again to-morrow,” he called. - -It had cleared when he came out into the street again. He set off -homeward, wondering where Rosaleen might be. Did she, too, feel it -necessary to walk and to be alone? He was certainly not sorry to have -missed her; he was glad that he was to have an opportunity for planning -a proper, gentlemanly speech. He felt that if he were to come face to -face with her now he could say nothing better than-- - -“I suppose there’s no reason why we shouldn’t get married now.” - -It never occurred to him to wonder how she was feeling, what she was -thinking. He was simply convinced that her attitude would be irritating. - - -II - -If he could have seen where she was! Meek, patient, quiet, her feet -crossed, her hands in her lap, she was sitting in his aunt’s -drawing-room, waiting for Mrs. Allanby’s return. Her face was -inexpressive; it was a face incapable of expression, like her voice and -her gestures. She was inarticulate, forever cut off from her fellows by -this queer helplessness. Nothing that went on in her brain or her heart -could ever be known by other people; she couldn’t show it, and she -couldn’t tell it. She sat there now without the least shadow on her face -of the dread and misery she was enduring. - -She had hurried out ahead of Nick because she wanted to cry; because -she was obliged to cry, and she was afraid that this inexplicable -weeping would annoy him. She had run down the front steps and into the -shelter of the basement door and had stood there sobbing frantically and -silently for some time.... Oh, if she could only draw a great, free -breath, and go where she wanted and do as she pleased, and have no -duties and obligations toward anyone! If only, for one week even, she -could behave as she liked, without implicating any other person in her -behaviour! No: she was eternally bound to please people and to help -people. She was mortally weary of it. The tyranny of the Humberts, the -tyranny of Enid, the tyranny of Lawrence, were all about to be succeeded -and swallowed up in a tyranny a thousand times more exacting and -difficult. To satisfy Nick she would have to make herself over, and at -thirty that is not at all easy or pleasant, even for a loving woman. For -Nick she would have to keep young and cheerful, when she felt -immeasurably old and discouraged. She would have to make a place for -herself in his world, and to maintain it. - -She dried her eyes and straightened her hat. She waited for a few -moments in her dark little niche, looking out at the rain, and -reflecting. She gave her attention to Miss Gosorkus, to Nick, to the -aunt, to the cousin. And a very great resentment grew up in her, a -stern and almost ferocious determination. _She_ was going to get some -profit from this situation; why not? Why should she always give, and -sacrifice, and efface herself? She made up her mind to begin her new -life under the most favourable possible circumstances, to eliminate all -possible disadvantages. She was filled with anger against all these -people, and a strong proletarian desire to retaliate, to repay their -indifference, their ignorance of her life and of her heart, with -arrogance, with bitterness. It was not a new feeling; she had had it -often before, for Miss Amy, for Lawrence, for other people less -important to her. It was the immeasurable resentment of a gentle and -fine spirit against the inferior people who oppress it. - - * * * * * - - * * * * * - -She heard the sound of a motor drawing up outside, then the bell rang, -and she saw the parlour maid hurry through the hall to open the door. - -“There’s a lady waiting to see you, ma’am,” she heard her say, and -Caroline said: - -“Ma gracious! At _this_ time of night!” - -Then, from where she sat, she could see the slim feet and ankles of -Caroline ascending the stairs, and in a moment Mrs. Allanby entered. - -She actually turned pale, perhaps for the first time in her life. - -“Oh!” she cried. “Oh ... you ... Mrs. Iverson.... Please sit down!” - -Rosaleen was glad to do so, because her knees were weak. And for some -time they sat opposite each other, their eyes averted, saying not a -word. Mrs. Allanby grey haired and elegant, in her black crêpe de chine, -Rosaleen dejected, pensive, worn. - -“I wanted to speak to you before I saw Nick,” she said, suddenly. “I -wanted to see....” - -“Yes?” said Mrs. Allanby, encouragingly. A wild hope had sprung up in -her that perhaps Rosaleen didn’t _wish_ to marry Nick, that perhaps she -had fallen in love with some undesirable person like herself. - -“I suppose you’d like to make the best of a bad bargain?” said Rosaleen. - -These words struck Mrs. Allanby forcibly; they destroyed her hope -completely. She murmured: - -“If it’s a bad bargain, why make it?” - -Rosaleen ignored this. - -“He’ll ask me to marry him,” she said, “and I’ll say ‘yes’.... But there -are--a lot of difficulties....” - -“Yes,” said Mrs. Allanby, quickly. “You are frank with me, Mrs. Iverson, -and Ah shall be frank with you. There _are_ a great many difficulties. -It’s not ... no; it’s not a suitable match for either of you. Ah don’t -think--in fact, Ah’m _sure_ you’d neither of you be happy. If you will -weigh the disadvantages....” - -“Nobody could possibly know the disadvantages better than I do!” said -Rosaleen. “But ... we’ve ... liked each other for a long time, and -nothing can stop us now. We’re surely going to be married.... And it -needn’t be so bad, if you’ll help me. That’s what I came for--to ask you -to help me. Will you, Mrs. Allanby?” - -Mrs. Allanby was astounded. - -“But ... Ah don’t see how you can expect me to help you!” she said, -“when--Ah would prefer--for it not to take place.” - -“But it _will_ take place! That’s just the point! You’re fond of Nick. -You want things to go well for him. That’s what I meant by making the -best of a bad bargain.” - -“Ma dear,” said Mrs. Allanby. “Ah wish you would listen to me. Ah’m so -much older than you. Ah know--the world. Marriages like this _can’t_ be -happy. It’s been tried over and over again; people like you and -Nick----” - -“There never were two people _just_ like us. Everybody’s different,” -said Rosaleen, struggling with her thought. “Anyway, really and truly, -Mrs. Allanby, it’s no use pointing out all that. You couldn’t say -anything I don’t know. And, after all, _I’m_ the one it’ll be hardest -for. _I’m_ the one who’ll have to struggle, and learn, and change -myself. _I’m_ the one with all the handicaps.” - -She paused for a moment. She thought of her barren and desolate life, of -the terrible future stretching before her. And this woman was asking her -to give up her unique solace and hope, was ready to argue with this -perishing creature as to whether it should seize the rope flung out as -it drowned. - -“Why!” she cried, appalled, outraged. “Can’t you think of _me_ for an -instant? What could I do? How could I go on--without him?... Why should -I give him up? How can you possibly ask me to?” - -“For his sake,” said Mrs. Allanby. “If you love him, you must be willing -to sacrifice yourself.” - -“I’ve been sacrificing myself until there’s hardly anything _left_ of -me!” she cried passionately. “And it’s never done anyone any good. -People just ask me as a matter of course.... But _not_ this time.... Why -should I? He’s known me for years and years. He hasn’t cared for anyone -else. Well, have I done him any harm? Have I had a bad influence?” - -“No, ma dear, of cou’se not. Ah’m not saying anything whatever against -_you_.” - -“Except that I’m not good enough.... Now then, _please_, Mrs. Allanby, -won’t you look at it this way for a minute? I could just as well marry -Nick to-morrow----” - -She stopped for an instant. - -“And I _will_,” she went on, with downcast eyes, “if I can’t get you to -help me.... But I want to make the best of it. I want us to--to have our -chance....” - -Mrs. Allanby was beaten. She saw that she couldn’t stop this thing. She -had either to make a futile struggle which would certainly antagonise -Nick, or she must, as Rosaleen said, make the best of a bad bargain. - -“What did you think Ah would do?” she asked with a smothered sigh. - -A flush came into Rosaleen’s pallid face. She had won! And at once she -grew gentler. - -“First of all, if you’d lend me enough money to send my sister and her -family to Philadelphia, and get them settled there,” she said. “I don’t -mean that I’m--trying to get rid of them, or anything like that. I want -to help them always, and I’m sure Nick will, too. But it’s far better -for them not to be here--for him not to see them again.” - -“And what else?” - -“And then ... if you’ll teach me things--show me how to dress, and to -act and all that...? Before I marry Nick?” - -Mrs. Allanby was silent for a while, struggling with her profound -disappointment. At last, with a long, inward sigh: - -“He might have done worse!” she said to herself, and held out her hand -to Rosaleen with a charming smile. - - -III - -Rosaleen went down the steps of the house with a strange feeling of -coldness. A hard, scheming woman, that’s what she was, determined to use -whatever advantage a niggardly fate had given her. Not a loving or -tender thought was in her head, nothing but her odious triumph. - -She reached the street and was half-way along the block when she saw him -coming. She knew him, even in the dark, his heavy, vehement stride, the -soft hat pulled so low over his eyes, the unbuttoned overcoat swaying -from his big shoulders. And her frigidity suddenly melted, gave place to -a sort of alarm. She wanted to hide, to avoid him, an impossible desire -in that decorous and deserted street. There was nothing to do but to -advance. She came abreast of him, but he didn’t turn his head. It never -occurred to him that Rosaleen could be here, near his own home, at this -hour. It was simply a woman passerby. He went on.... And suddenly heard -her running after him. - -“Mr. Landry,” she cried, with a little laugh. “Don’t you _know_ me?” - -He wheeled about, startled. - -“I didn’t expect you to be here,” he said. “I’ve just come from your -sister’s. I waited there.... I wanted to see you.” - -“Yes,” she said, “and _I_ wanted to see _you_. I’ve been having a talk -with your aunt.” - -“What about?” he asked, hastily. - -“Oh.... Let’s walk over into the Park and talk?” - -He assented, rather ungraciously, because he would have preferred making -the suggestion himself, and they turned down the next cross street and -into a deserted and solitary walk in the Park. It was a harsh and -blustery night; no rain was falling, but the walks were wet and -glistening and the bare branches shook down chilly drops when the wind -blew. There was no one about; they had the place to themselves, and Nick -selected a bench near a light, where he could see her face--if he -wished. He took a newspaper from his overcoat pocket and spread it for -her to sit on. - -“Now,” he said. “Let’s hear what you had to say to Aunt Emmie!” - -His tone wasn’t pleasant; this visit had made him suspicious and uneasy. - -“I wanted ... no, I’d rather not tell you....” said Rosaleen. - -“Very well!” he said briefly. - -He slouched down, his hands thrust deep in his pockets, looking at the -trees and shrubs before him absurdly illuminated by the electric light. -Like scenery on the stage, he thought, except that the colours were too -drab and indefinite.... He felt extraordinarily miserable, sorrowful, -irritated. He began to feel sorry for this partner of his dreary -romance. - -“You’ll marry me at once, won’t you, Rosaleen?” he asked, with an -innocent sort of kindness. And instead of answering as he had expected, -she cried suddenly-- - -“_Why?_” - -He tried his best to say “Because we love each other,” but he could not -utter the words. A gust of wind brought down a shower from the tree -behind them, pattering with sudden violence on his hat. - -“Well...” he said, irresolutely, “I ... we’re too--mature to be very -sentimental, aren’t we, Rosaleen?... I mean--we _like_ each other ... we -get on well together....” - -“How do you know? We’ve never tried.” - -“We would, I’m sure.... There’s no use in talking and talking about the -thing. We wanted to get married, and now, at last, we can.” - -“Perhaps--we don’t want to. Perhaps it’s too late.” - -“Nonsense!” he said, brusquely, but horribly without conviction. He had -_nothing_ to say, really; he was unable to plead, to argue, even to -discuss. Another melancholy shower came down on them, and he rose. - -“Better not sit here,” he said. “You’ll be drenched.” - -She didn’t answer. He waited a few minutes, then he said, a little -impatiently: - -“Come! You’d better not sit here!” - -He was desperate to escape from this intolerable situation. He bent over -to take her by the hand and raise her to her feet, when he observed that -she was wiping her eyes with a crumpled handkerchief. - -“What’s the matter?” he asked, gently. - -He could hardly believe his ears. - -“_What!_” he cried, startled. - -And she repeated her amazing phrase. - -“You’ve _cheated_ me,” she sobbed. - -“But how?” he demand. “In what way? What _do_ you mean?” - -He had to sit down beside her again to hear her words. - -“I wanted you ... to be ... dear ... and loving,” she sobbed. - -“To be _dear_ and _loving_,” he repeated, in astonishment. - -And suddenly she stretched out her arms toward him. He faltered, for an -instant, and then he caught her tightly in a compassionate embrace. He -was so sorry for the weeping and sorrowful woman. She strained herself -close against him, with her arms about his neck, still sobbing a little, -her soft hair brushed against his face.... His compassion began to go, -began to merge into a passionate tenderness. He kissed her with delight, -with rapture, this sweet and mysterious woman.... He drew her head down -on his breast, and looked at her in the strained, thin light high -overhead. He lost himself in the radiance of her eyes, the curves of her -patient and tender mouth; he kissed her again, and was startled at the -texture of her skin. Her hair was like a misty halo about her face; her -eyes met his with a look which he could not comprehend, but which -thrilled him beyond measure.... He had here the answer to all his -miserable perplexity. Never once during all the time he had known her -had he held her like this. He hadn’t even had the sense to realise that -he wished to do so. And not knowing this, he had known nothing. This -ecstasy was the reason, was the very core and heart of the situation. - -“I love you,” he said, with absolute conviction, absolute sincerity. She -raised her head and gave him a sudden, fierce little kiss. - -“What was the _matter_ with us this evening?” she cried. “How could we -have been so stupid, after we’ve loved each other so long?” - -It was just that, the long thwarting and crushing of their love, that -had so wounded them both. That love, without a sign, without so much as -a hand-clasp, starved, chilled, denied, had grown morose and fearful. It -was only now, with her pitiful and lovely feminine gesture, that she had -broken down the barrier between them. Their love had nothing to do with -suitability and expediency, as known to them: it was suitable and -expedient according to a plan older and subtler than the social one of -which they were aware. They were the one man and the one woman. There -was something between them indestructible and inexplicable, something -sturdier and deeper than desire and yet whose root was in desire. - -Rosaleen, thrilled and exultant as she was, was nevertheless a woman, -and forever anxious. - -“You’re _sure_?” she asked. “You’re _sure_ I won’t ruin your life if I -marry you?” - -“I’m sure you’ll ruin my life if you _don’t_!” he said. - -They saw nothing but the life that lay before them: they had forgotten -all that had gone by: they had forgotten the past, as much a part of -their eternal existence as anything which might yet come. - - -THE END - - -Typographical errors corrected by the etext transcriber: - -For it not the love Lawrence meant.=> For it was not the love Lawrence -meant. {pg 234} - -beside which stook a great=> beside which stood a great {pg 240} - -=> {pg} - -=> {pg} - -=> {pg} - -=> {pg} - -=> {pg} - -=> {pg} - -=> {pg} - -=> {pg} - -=> {pg} - -=> {pg} - -=> {pg} - -=> {pg} - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ROSALEEN AMONG THE -ARTISTS *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law 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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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 <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> - -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Rosaleen among the artists</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Elizabeth Sanxay Holding</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: August 16, 2022 [eBook #68767]</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</p> - <p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em; text-align:left'>Produced by: Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images available at The Internet Archive)</p> -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ROSALEEN AMONG THE ARTISTS ***</div> - -<div class="c"> -<a href="images/cover.jpg"> -<img src="images/cover.jpg" height="500" alt="[The -image of the book's cover is unavailable.]" /></a> -</div> - -<hr class="dbl" /> - -<p class="cb">ROSALEEN AMONG THE ARTISTS</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="cb">ELISABETH SANXAY HOLDING</p> - -<div class="blk1"> -<p>“<i>Rosaleen observed that this fiercely scorned and detested -sentimentality very often caused people to act with the greatest -nobility. While common-sense and enlightened self-interest seemed -frequently to bring forth incredible baseness.</i>”</p> -</div> - -<div class="blk"> -<hr class="dbl" /> -<h1> -ROSALEEN<br /> -AMONG THE ARTISTS</h1> - -<p class="cb">BY<br /> -ELISABETH SANXAY HOLDING<br /><small> -AUTHOR OF “INVINCIBLE MINNIE,” ETC.<br /></small> -</p> -<hr class="dblb" /> -</div> - -<p class="c"> -NEW -<img src="images/colophon.png" -width="60" -alt="" /> -YORK<br /> -GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY<br /> -</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="cb">PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA<br /><br /><br /> - -TO<br /> -E. E. S.<br /> -</p> - -<h3><a id="CONTENTS"></a>CONTENTS</h3> - -<table> -<tr><td> </td><td><small>PAGE</small></td></tr> - -<tr><th colspan="2"><a href="#BOOK_ONE">BOOK ONE:</a></th></tr> -<tr><td>    <span class="smcap">The Betrayal</span></td><td class="rtb"><a href="#page_11">11</a></td></tr> -<tr><th colspan="2"><a href="#BOOK_TWO">BOOK TWO:</a></th></tr> -<tr><td>    <span class="smcap">Among the Artists</span></td><td class="rtb"><a href="#page_113">113</a></td></tr> -<tr><th colspan="2"><a href="#BOOK_THREE">BOOK THREE:</a></th></tr> -<tr><td>    <span class="smcap">Forlorn Rosaleen</span></td><td class="rtb"><a href="#page_185">185</a></td></tr> -<tr><th colspan="2"><a href="#BOOK_FOUR">BOOK FOUR:</a></th></tr> -<tr><td>    <span class="smcap">The Honourable Lovers</span></td><td class="rtb"><a href="#page_239">239</a></td></tr> -</table> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page_11">{11}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a id="BOOK_ONE"></a>BOOK ONE: THE BETRAYAL</h2> - -<h3><a id="CHAPTER_ONE-a"></a>CHAPTER ONE</h3> - -<p><span class="smcap">No</span> sooner had she got inside the door than the tears began to fall; and -all the way up the four flights of dark stairway they were raining down -her cheeks. She had to wipe them away before she could see to put the -latchkey into the lock.</p> - -<p>Everything neat, orderly, familiar; just as she had left it a few hours -ago, and all seeming in its blank sobriety to rebuke her for her -desperate hopes. She went into her own bare and chilly little room and -lay down on the cot there, sobbing forlornly, clutching in her hand the -card he had given her—a sort of talisman by means of which she could -reconstruct the enchanted hour of that afternoon. She remembered every -word he had said, every detail of his appearance. And, recollecting -them, wept all the more to think what she must forego.</p> - -<p>“<i>Of course</i>, I’ll never see him again!” she cried. “I’ll have to forget -all about him....”</p> - -<p>But she knew that she could not forget him. It seemed to her that she -had never seen so remarkable,<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_12">{12}</a></span> so attractive a person. His face, when he -had turned round, that thin, dark face with its haughty nose, the -underlip scornfully protruding, the serious regard of his black eyes....</p> - -<p>She had not particularly noticed him at first, except as a gaunt and -rather shabby young man sitting on the bench behind her on top of the -bus. She had been absorbed in watching Fifth Avenue, which had, on that -bright October afternoon, the absurd and exciting festival air it so -unaccountably assumes. She was solemnly happy, singing under her breath, -looking down at the people, the shops, the motor cars that were going -by; when there came a sudden violent jolt and the coin she was holding -had leaped out of her hand and fallen to the street below. And it was -the only one she had!</p> - -<p>She had sprung up in a panic; ready to jump off the bus and walk all the -long way home, but at the top of the little stairway she had met the -conductor coming up.</p> - -<p>“<span class="smcap">Fare!</span>” he had said, with suspicion.</p> - -<p>“I just dropped it—a minute ago!” she explained. “I was ... I had a -quarter in my hand—and it fell out....”</p> - -<p>“Oh, it did, did it?” said he.</p> - -<p>“I’ll get off at once,” she said.</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes!” said the conductor. “Of course you<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_13">{13}</a></span> dropped it! But you just -happened to be where you wanted to get off when you dropped it, though, -didn’t you?”</p> - -<p>She gave a miserable, deprecating smile, anxious only to escape from -this humiliation, to get away. When suddenly that young man had got up, -put a dime into the conductor’s register, and raised his hat -ceremoniously to Rosaleen.</p> - -<p>“Allow me!” he had said.</p> - -<p>“<span class="smcap">Oh!</span> Thank you!” she had cried. “Thank you!...”</p> - -<p>“Not at all!” said he.</p> - -<p>She had resumed her seat on the bench ahead of him, and tried to look -with exaggerated interest at the street. But she was terribly -distressed. She felt that she hadn’t said enough—not nearly enough. -Surely she ought at least to suggest repaying him, or something of that -sort;—not to sit there and ride along, with her back turned to him.</p> - -<p>And though of course she couldn’t know it, he was just as troubled. He -had heard her say that she had dropped a quarter, and it occurred to him -that she might very well need the rest of it badly, for more carfare, -perhaps, or something else very necessary.... In the course of time the -idea became intolerable. He leaned forward and touched<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_14">{14}</a></span> her gently on -the shoulder; and she had turned to regard him with alarmed grey eyes.</p> - -<p>“I beg your pardon...” he began. “But ... I’d be very glad ... if you -would permit me....”</p> - -<p>He saw that she didn’t comprehend.</p> - -<p>“I overheard you say that it was a quarter you had dropped,” he said. -“If you—perhaps you particularly wanted the change...?”</p> - -<p>“Oh!... No!... No, thank you very much, indeed, but I don’t. I’m going -right home. I—No, thank you just the same!”</p> - -<p>She was so immeasurably grateful that she could not bear to turn her -back on him; she faced him, confused, but smiling, passionately anxious -to be nice to one who had been so nice to her.</p> - -<p>“Isn’t it a beautiful day?” she had said.</p> - -<p>“Yes, it is!” said he. “Very!”</p> - -<p>She kept on smiling, but it was a strained and wretched smile, and the -colour in her cheeks deepened. A ridiculous, an intolerable situation! -She couldn’t keep on in that way, twisted half round in her seat, and -smiling and smiling.... She <i>had</i> to turn away.</p> - -<p>But a little later she turned back again.</p> - -<p>“Isn’t that florist’s window lovely?” she had said.</p> - -<p>“Yes, it is!” he answered. “Very!<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_15">{15}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>He, too, wished to be nice, but couldn’t; and once she had resumed her -normal position, although then he thought of a number of things he -wished to say, he couldn’t suddenly make remarks to her back. Neither -could he touch her on the shoulder again, for he considered that would -be vulgar. So after much thought, he finally got up and standing beside -her and holding fast to the back of the seat to keep his footing on the -lurching deck, he asked her if she could tell him what building that -was?</p> - -<p>She did so, gladly.</p> - -<p>“I haven’t been in the city long,” he said, with a chivalrous desire to -give her information about himself. “I’m from Charleston.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, are you? Do you like it here?”</p> - -<p>“No,” he answered, promptly. “Not much.”</p> - -<p>She was a little taken aback at that, and while she was thinking of a -polite rejoinder, the young man had taken from his pocket a leather -case, and was proffering a card.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Mr. Nicholas Landry.</span></p> - -<p>“Thank you!” she murmured.</p> - -<p>He waited a moment, hoping perhaps for some sort of reciprocation, but -none came. So—</p> - -<p>“May I sit down?” he asked.</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes, do!” she answered.</p> - -<p>A long time seemed to go by.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_16">{16}</a></span></p> - -<p>“I wish—” he said, and paused. “I wish I could see you again.”</p> - -<p>There was a sort of self-assurance about him that somehow inspired her -with confidence in him. It had not the least trace of effrontery, nor -was there anything ingratiating about him. His air seemed to tell her -that, if she didn’t want to see him, she need only say so, and that -would be the end of it. He was quiet, courteous, but far from humble. He -was, in fact, rather lordly. And she liked it.</p> - -<p>“Well...” she began. “I—I’d like to—pay you back that fare....”</p> - -<p>“Perhaps you’d let me call?”</p> - -<p>He was startled at her vehemence.</p> - -<p>“Oh, no!” she cried. “Oh, no! You couldn’t! I’m sorry—but you -couldn’t!”</p> - -<p>Her face had grown crimson and her eyes were filled with tears, and she -kept her head resolutely turned aside.</p> - -<p>This surprised, embarrassed and a little annoyed him. Did she think he -was trying to force himself upon her? He said nothing more after that.</p> - -<p>But at last, as they drew near his corner, he spoke again.</p> - -<p>“Well!” he said, rising, with a slight sigh. “I’m sorry!”</p> - -<p>She turned quickly.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_17">{17}</a></span></p> - -<p>“If—if you’d like ... to-morrow ... in the Fifth Avenue Library...?”</p> - -<p>Again he was surprised, amazed at this sudden and anxious invitation. -But he politely concealed his surprise.</p> - -<p>“Nothing I’d like better,” he said. “What time?”</p> - -<p>“About three?”</p> - -<p>“I’ll be there!” he assured her. “Just where?”</p> - -<p>“Oh ... that hall that goes down to the circulating room....”</p> - -<p>He stretched out his hand to ring the bell.</p> - -<p>“But you haven’t told me your name!” he said.</p> - -<p>“Oh! Rosaleen!” she said. “Rosaleen—Humbert.”</p> - -<p>Then once more raising his hat with a smile that enthralled her, he had -vanished down the stairs, and a moment later she had seen him going down -a side street—a lean young figure with a long stride.</p> - -<p class="cdtts">. . . . . . . . . .</p> - -<p>“I shan’t go!” she sobbed. “Of course not! What would be the sense? I’d -just better forget all about him.”</p> - -<p>“It wouldn’t be fair!” she went on. “Because—if he knew ... he wouldn’t -want to see me....”</p> - -<p>Useless to recollect newspaper tales of dukes and<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_18">{18}</a></span> chorus girls, of -millionaires and waitresses, of Cophetua and the beggar maid in all its -modern guises. All those people were different. There was no other man -like him, no other woman like her. What is more, Rosaleen had no faith -in romance. Had not her history been what <i>anyone</i> would call romantic, -and wasn’t it as cruel and dull and cold as any life could be?</p> - -<p>She sat up and dried her eyes.</p> - -<p>“No!” she said. “No use thinking about it.... No use making a fool of -myself.”</p> - -<p>It had grown quite dark. She got up and lighted the flaring gas jet on a -wall bracket, and looked at the big impudent face of the alarm clock -standing on her austere bureau top. And at the same time caught sight of -her own face, stained and swollen with tears, but still lovely in its -pure young outline, with the wise innocence of those drowned grey eyes. -The type one calls “flower-like,” with the exquisite fineness of her -old, old race, the deep set eyes, the passionate and sensitive mouth, -the strange look of resignation. She was rather fair, with light brown -hair and a sweet and healthy colour; she was slender and not very tall; -she looked fragile, but she was not. She had a strength, an energy, an -endurance beyond measure.</p> - -<p>An endurance well known and profited by in this<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_19">{19}</a></span> household. She brushed -her fine hair and pinned it up tightly and carelessly; she bathed her -eyes in cold water and tied an apron about her waist. And went along the -corridor of the dark, old-fashioned flat to the kitchen. All neat as a -pin there. Potatoes closely pared, soaking in cold water, lettuce in a -wet cloth, a jar of lard set to cool on the window sill, ready for the -inevitable frying. She set to work briskly to prepare the supper, and -when it was cooking on the stove, she set up the ironing board and began -to press a pile of napkins and handkerchiefs. And began to sing to -herself in a low and mournful voice.</p> - -<p>At six o’clock came the expected sound of a key in the latch, and -presently a venerable grey-bearded old gentleman put his head into the -kitchen.</p> - -<p>“Well! Well! Well!” he said, benevolently. “Aha! Something very savoury -there, I think, Rosaleen!”</p> - -<p>“I hope you’ll like it,” she said, smiling.</p> - -<p>“Will it be long?”</p> - -<p>“Not an instant. I’ll set the table now. Shall we wait for Miss Amy?”</p> - -<p>“I think not. I think not. Better get it over with, eh?”</p> - -<p>She smiled again, and putting up the ironing board, began at once to lay -the table for three. The<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_20">{20}</a></span> venerable old gentleman had vanished into his -room, and was seen no more until she knocked on his door.</p> - -<p>“Dinner!” she said.</p> - -<p>He came out again very promptly, closing the door behind him, and took -his place at the head of the table. He bowed his grey head, Rosaleen -bent her sleek one, and he said a solemn grace. And then set to work to -carve the scraggy little steak. It didn’t take much to make him -grateful; their standard of living wasn’t exalted; tough meat, with -potatoes and a canned vegetable, that was the regulation; then as a -dessert either canned fruit or a pie from the baker’s. And the lettuce, -which it was considered necessary for his health that Mr. Humbert should -eat every evening.</p> - -<p>Rosaleen sat opposite him, still in her apron, thankful for once for his -inhuman indifference. He wouldn’t notice that she had been crying. They -didn’t talk; they never did. What could they possibly have to say to -each other?</p> - -<p>The light from two jets in the gasolier over the table shone clearly, -illumined every corner. All quite neat and clean, with a sort of bright -stuffiness about it; a greenish brown carpet on the floor, a couch bed -concealed by a green corduroy cover, four varnished oak chairs spaced -primly against the wall. In one corner stood a sewing machine covered -with<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_21">{21}</a></span> a lace tablecloth, on which was a fern in a pot decorated with a -frill of green crêpe paper. On the mantelpiece stood a geranium -similarly ornamented, and on the table another. From the gasolier and -from the curtain pole over the doorway were suspended half coconut -shells filled with ferns. Hanging in the windows by gilt chains were two -“transparencies”; one was moonlight in Venice, all a ghastly green, and -the other was a church with lighted windows gleaming redly over the -snow: no doubt they were to compensate for the lack of any view except -that of the wall of a courtyard. Nothing in this familiar hideousness to -arrest Rosaleen’s glance; she looked restlessly about, longing for the -venerable old gentleman to have done with his coconut custard pie.</p> - -<p>At last (of course) he did.</p> - -<p>“Don’t forget to save something for Miss Amy!” he said, and disappeared -again into his cubicle.</p> - -<p>While Rosaleen went about her solitary work, washed the dishes, scoured -the pots, boiled the dishtowels and hung them to dry, swept the floor, -and at last could put out the gas and go away, leaving her domain in -perfect order. Nothing more to be done....</p> - -<p>Then was the time when the pain, the unhappiness which she had thought -to be conquered, and lost<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_22">{22}</a></span> in resignation, came back to her again, -stronger, more bitter than ever. In all her hard life there had never -been anything so hard as the renunciation of this unknown young man.</p> - -<p>“But I won’t go to meet him!” she said. “He’d be sure to find out. And -then it would be all the worse.... Now I’ve only seen him once, and if I -never see him again, I’ll soon forget him. Oh, much, much better not to -go!”</p> - -<p>“But if he liked me <i>very</i> much, he wouldn’t care <i>who</i> I was!”</p> - -<p>That thought, however, held no consolation. He <i>would</i> care. She knew -it. She had read in every feature of his face the most obstinate and -tyrannical pride.</p> - -<p>“But maybe he’d never find out?” she persisted, desperately.</p> - -<p>And looked and looked in the mirror, with fervent anxiety. One might -have thought she expected to see her secret stamped on her brow.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_23">{23}</a></span></p> - -<h3><a id="CHAPTER_TWO-a"></a>CHAPTER TWO</h3> - -<h4>I</h4> - -<p><span class="smcap">They</span> thought she had forgotten, because she never mentioned anything of -that, never asked a question. But she hadn’t. No! She remembered, and at -her worst and loneliest, she longed for the old times. Besides, she had -three times heard Miss Amy relating the story when they believed her to -be asleep in bed, and each time she had heard it told, the most -immeasurable bitterness, the most devastating misery had rushed over -her.</p> - -<p>“Why ever was I <i>born</i>?” she used to cry to herself.</p> - -<p>And hadn’t she also heard Miss Amy murmur, not imagining herself -overheard, that: You can’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear! What -else can you expect from a girl like <i>that</i>?</p> - -<p>It had hurt and angered her so; it had left her without gratitude, -without even justice. She quite hated Miss Amy.</p> - -<p>Lying in her bed that night all these feelings flamed in her with -fiercest intensity, shame, bitter<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_24">{24}</a></span>ness, and, above all, a great and -unassuaged grief for that incomparable friend whom she had lost, for the -kind and sturdy Miss Julie, dead these five long years.</p> - -<p>Miss Julie had meant to do a kindness. She intended—and if she had -lived she would have succeeded in—benefiting Rosaleen.</p> - -<p>“I remember it as if it were yesterday,” Miss Amy had begun her -thrice-told tale, “The day that Julie brought her here....”</p> - -<p>Well, and didn’t Rosaleen remember it, too? Who better?</p> - -<h4>II</h4> - -<p><span class="smcap">It</span> had begun ten years ago in the Life Class at the Girls’ Institute of -Practical Art where Miss Julie, bravely disregarding her thirty-five -years, had commenced to study. Upon the death of their very old father, -the three Humberts, brother and two sisters, had left their farm in -Maine and had come to New York to live. They were independent now, and -in a hurry to leave their old homestead, to be free from that -atmosphere, where they had passed a dreary childhood and a youth -frightfully oppressed by the old man. Crude, strong people, they were -possessed of a strange and pitiful craving for “cul<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_25">{25}</a></span>ture.” Perhaps -because they were rather too old and too repressed for pleasure.</p> - -<p>Mr. Humbert had found a position in an office, fulfilling a lifelong -dream of gentility, and his great hands, worn and roughened with the -hard labour of the farm, seized eagerly upon the pen. He had made -himself into the likeness of a scholar, without learning, without -aptitude; he had covered himself with the shell of a scholar, and he -deceived himself and his sisters and all the rest of their little world. -Miss Amy had found it hardest to adapt herself. She was by nature the -perfect village gossip, the meddlesome and vindictive spinster inflicted -upon every community in all corners of this earth. She was cruel, -jealous and stupid. Left to herself she had been unable to discover in -all the city anything which really interested her. But a casual -neighbour had taken her in hand, and under her direction she developed -strangely. She became absorbed in Interior Decorating. She had not a -vestige of taste; she never dreamt of applying at home any of the -principles of which she read, but she dearly loved to see pictures and -to read about fine old furniture, about rugs, about Antiques. She used -to go to Auction Sales with great pleasure. Also, with mysterious -facility, she made a number of friends. In the stores, the markets, in -the street cars, she would<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_26">{26}</a></span> drop into conversation with strangers, and -she would never let them go. She managed so that within a year’s time -she was able to go out <i>somewhere</i> nearly every day.</p> - -<p>Miss Julie, as we said, began at once to study art, with rapture. No one -could imagine how she enjoyed that Life Class—a most refined and -earnest class, thoroughly feminine, and inclined to fussiness. There -were only twelve members and five of them had scholarships of which they -were doggedly determined to take advantage. They came early, so as not -to waste a minute, and they carried out every minute suggestion of the -teacher. The models were all investigated, and a good reputation was of -more avail than a fine body. Respectable women, generally a trifle -heavy, “picturesque” old men with white beards, a young man or so who -was invariably struggling to study something, and was not to be -discouraged by posing all day and amusing himself all evening.</p> - -<p>The class was on this particular morning assembled, all ready, sitting -before their drawing boards, and a little indignant at the delay. They -couldn’t bear to waste time.</p> - -<p>“Ten minutes late!” said one of them. “It’s to be a child to-day, isn’t -it, Miss Humbert?<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_27">{27}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>Miss Julie, as monitor, was informed and answered yes.</p> - -<p>“I don’t care about doing children,” said the student, “I don’t think -they’re interesting. That last little boy was perfectly square.”</p> - -<p>Just then in came a fat, smiling woman in black, holding a little girl -by the hand. Miss Julie pointed out the dressing screen, and they -disappeared behind it. For an unreasonably long time their voices were -heard, whispering.</p> - -<p>It was Miss Julie who voiced the indignation of the serious class.</p> - -<p>“Aren’t you ready to pose yet?” she called out. “We’ve wasted over -twenty minutes.”</p> - -<p>“Just a moment, please ma’am!” answered the woman’s pleasant voice, and -presently she emerged, still leading the child by the hand. Reluctantly -the little thing came out from behind the screen, a thin, white body; -then suddenly she broke violently away from her mother and disappeared -again.</p> - -<p>“Saints deliver us!” said the woman with a sigh. “Did you ever see the -like?”</p> - -<p>And she went after the child, and evidently tried to drag it out, for it -began to cry, in a low, hoarse little voice.</p> - -<p>“No! No! I can’t! No, Mommer! I can’t!<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_28">{28}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“Naughty little thing!” said one of the serious students, with a frown.</p> - -<p>But Miss Julie had got up and gone behind the screen.</p> - -<p>“What’s the matter?” she demanded, with severity.</p> - -<p>“That child!” said the mother. “She’s that obstinate there is no -reasoning with her at all. She’s made up her mind she will not stand out -there for the young ladies to draw.”</p> - -<p>“Why?” demanded Miss Julie.</p> - -<p>“Some silly notion,” said the mother.</p> - -<p>Miss Julie looked down at the little girl; she had pulled her dress -round her shivering little body and was crouched against the wall, with -eyes to break your heart, full of terror and anguish. Miss Julie was -shocked.</p> - -<p>“What’s the matter, pet?” she asked, gently. “Aren’t you well?”</p> - -<p>The child couldn’t answer, only shook her head, while tears began to -roll slowly down her cheeks. Miss Julie went down on her knees beside -her, and tried to put an arm about her, but she cowered away.</p> - -<p>“Tell me!” she entreated. “Why don’t you want to pose, my dear?<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_29">{29}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>With lips trembling so that she could scarcely speak, the child told -her.</p> - -<p>“I want ... to—get dressed.... I don’t ... want them to see me.”</p> - -<p>“Hasn’t she posed before?” Miss Julie asked the mother.</p> - -<p>“No, she has not. I’ve done the best I——”</p> - -<p>“Do you mean to say you’re trying to force her—when she feels as she -does—when she’s <i>ashamed</i>?”</p> - -<p>The stout woman did not flinch at all before Miss Julie’s stern glance.</p> - -<p>“It will do her no harm,” she said. “Only for these young ladies and -while she’s so young.”</p> - -<p>“It’s very wrong!” cried Miss Julie. “It’s—it shouldn’t be allowed.”</p> - -<p>“She’s engaged already. For two hours at fifty cents an hour. She needs -the money and she will have to do the work for it,” the mother remarked -grimly. “Go on with you, Rosaleen!”</p> - -<p>“Get dressed!” said Miss Julie to the child. “You can pose in a costume. -I’ll find something.”</p> - -<p>She explained as well as she could to her classmates, but received no -general sympathy. Most of them thought the child was awfully silly.</p> - -<p>“And she’s made us waste half our time,” said one of them. “I’m going to -complain in the office.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_30">{30}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>Miss Julie devised a costume which she said was a gipsy dress. She went -behind the screen again and found the little girl in underwaist and -petticoat, buttoning up her poor, scuffed little boots.</p> - -<p>“We’ll take those off,” she said. “You won’t mind being bare-legged.”</p> - -<p>She dressed the little thing while it stood there like a doll. A -beautiful child, too thin and altogether too small for its years, but -very charmingly and gracefully built; it had deep-set clear grey eyes -and a wistful small face, broad at the brow and tapering to a pointed -chin, like a kitten’s. And it had about it something which enslaved Miss -Julie, some mystic and adorable quality which she could not name, and -which no one else saw.</p> - -<p>She unfastened the two scrawny little “pig tails” and let her ill-kept -brown hair fall about the neck, pitifully thin, like a bird’s; then she -tied a broad scarlet ribbon about her forehead and put on a short -spangled jacket over the underwaist. She looked very unlike a gipsy, -with her meek glance and her fair skin, but she was undeniably lovely, -and the class set to work drawing her without further grumbling. She was -quiet as a lamb, quick to obey any suggestion, evidently anxious to -atone for her naughtiness. She looked pitifully tired, too.</p> - -<p>Miss Julie was quite determined not to let this<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_31">{31}</a></span> child vanish. She -resolutely stopped the stout woman as she was leaving.</p> - -<p>“You won’t make her pose any more, will you?” she said, entreating.</p> - -<p>“I’m a poor woman,” said the mother, “and I have to do the best I can.”</p> - -<p>“But it’s——”</p> - -<p>“It’s fifty cents an hour, Miss, that’s what it is. And I need the money -that bad.”</p> - -<p>“I’ll find something better for her to do,” said Miss Julie, rashly. “If -you’ll give me your name and address, I’ll find something <i>much</i> better. -Only—she mustn’t do this. It’s not right, feeling as she does.”</p> - -<p>“Only Saturdays and after school,” said the mother. “I do the best I can -for her, but ’tis not very much, where there are six and me a widow. She -goes regular to the Sisters’ school, and she is doing fine there. She’s -not twelve yet and——”</p> - -<p>“She’s very small for that age,” said Miss Julie.</p> - -<p>“She is small,” her mother agreed, “and childish-like for her age. But -she’s smart. Last Christmas didn’t they give her a prize—a book with -poetry in it—for elocution.”</p> - -<p>Miss Julie had wished to regard this mother as a brute, a fiend; she had -not enough experience or subtlety to comprehend lights and shades. -Every<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_32">{32}</a></span>one must be good or bad, and no shilly-shallying. So she regarded -this note of pride in the woman’s voice as hypocrisy.</p> - -<p>She watched them as they went out, the rusty widow with her profoundly -cynical red face, the fragile, shabby child clinging to her, stealing -sidelong glances at the “young ladies,” who were getting ready to go -home. She was determined to save that lovely and abused child.</p> - -<p>She had hurried home to “consult” her brother. Not that she had any real -regard for his opinion or any desire to know what it was; she knew, in -fact, that he probably would advise her to use her own judgment. But she -considered it decent to consult the man in the house; so she approached -him with her idea.</p> - -<p>“A lovely little thing,” she said. “Really beautiful—and so intelligent -looking.”</p> - -<p>“Yes?” said Mr. Humbert.</p> - -<p>“And something really refined about her.... Really, Morton, I should -like to adopt her.”</p> - -<p>That roused him. A child in the place! Impossible! He tried to argue, -but he couldn’t. He was never able to. He had some queer constitutional -inability for argument; a fatal lassitude would overwhelm him before he -had begun even to express his views. He always ran away, shut him<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_33">{33}</a></span>self -into his own room and forced himself to forget whatever it was that he -had found unpleasant.</p> - -<p>“I’d have to see the woman, of course,—investigate...” he said, hoping -in this way to push the whole topic away into the distance.</p> - -<p>But his sister agreed with alarming promptness.</p> - -<p>“Of course!” she said.</p> - -<p>Well, then, two days later, when he came home from his office, and as -usual put his head in at the kitchen door to announce himself and to see -what was going forward, he saw sitting in two chairs side by side a -voluminous widow and a thin little girl, drinking cocoa with relish and -with elegance, little fingers crooked in the air.</p> - -<p>“This is Mrs. Monahan!” said Julie, briefly.</p> - -<p>He saw that he was expected to go in and question this stout woman with -an amused red face, and he would have preferred death.</p> - -<p>“I’ll leave the matter in your hands, Julie,” he said, and hastened into -his own room, positively trembling with fright.</p> - -<p>It wasn’t long before Julie knocked at his door.</p> - -<p>“We’ve come to a temporary arrangement,” she said. “I actually believe -that woman’s glad to be rid of her child.”</p> - -<p>Forgetting that the forlorn little child was still sitting in the -kitchen, and able to hear every word.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_34">{34}</a></span></p> - -<h4>III</h4> - -<p><span class="smcap">Quite</span> true that Mrs. Monahan had agreed to abandon her child almost -completely. She loved Rosaleen, but she didn’t feel it necessary to have -her with her; and anyway, hadn’t she plenty of others? To know that -Rosaleen was living in comfort somewhere in God’s world was quite -enough. <i>She</i> hadn’t a trace of sentimentality. An excess, even very -slight, of whiskey or even of strong boiled tea, could cause Mrs. -Monahan to shed tears and to shake her head with delicious melancholy -over life and its pains, and she professed to look upon death as a -blessed release. But all this in no way affected her actions. She -resigned her lovely child to this erratic and sentimental spinster -because she saw very clearly the benefits which might be obtained. But -she would not even pretend to be grateful.</p> - -<p>Later in the evening she returned as she had promised, bringing with her -a bundle of Rosaleen’s effects, and she found her child sitting on a -sofa in the sitting room, holding before her face a big geography book -which Miss Julie had said contained interesting pictures, while behind -it the tears were trickling slowly down her cheeks. She rushed at her -mother like a whirlwind, and kissed her and em<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_35">{35}</a></span>braced her, clinging to -her desperately. Mrs. Monahan also wept, but nevertheless went away.</p> - -<p>Miss Julie’s heart ached for the deserted little creature.</p> - -<p>“There! There!” she said. “You mustn’t cry, dear! Come! We’ll go into -your own nice, comfy little room and put your things away, and then -you’ll feel more at home.”</p> - -<p>She led her into a decent enough little cell, clean and orderly, and -opened the little bundle. It did not contain what, according to all -proper stories of poor little girls, it should have contained, the -traditional clothes, few in number, but neatly patched and darned, and -spotlessly clean. Mrs. Monahan had taken it for granted that a new -outfit would be bought for Rosaleen, and she hadn’t wasted her time -mending things that would certainly be discarded. She had, on the -contrary, kept all Rosaleen’s better things at home, for the other -children, so that what Miss Julie unwrapped was poor enough.</p> - -<p>“A bundle of rags!” she reflected, shocked.</p> - -<p>She didn’t quite know what to do with the child that evening. She was -very anxious to make her happy, to console and comfort her. She sat down -at the piano and played all her small repertory—marches, polkas, -mazurkas, and waltzes, all of the<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_36">{36}</a></span> brilliant style. But Rosaleen was -thoroughly accustomed to piano playing; every family she knew had one -piano-playing daughter. Her mother had once had a piano, on “time -payments”; it had had to go back whence it came after three months, but -she had enjoyed experimenting on it while it lasted.</p> - -<p>Then Miss Julie gave her picture books to look at, things insultingly -beneath her intelligence. This good lady didn’t realise that Rosaleen -had for a long time been treated as an adult; that she sat with her -mother and her mother’s friends, listening with profound interest to -long tales of illnesses, births, deaths, of bad husbands and good ones, -of tragedies beyond the knowledge of this household. Babies scalded in -wash tubs, women maltreated by their men, girls who disappeared, -lingering illnesses in bleak poverty. So blank and desolate for her was -this first evening at the Humberts, that she was glad enough to go to -bed at nine o’clock, although her usual time was at least two hours -later.</p> - -<p>Miss Julie tucked her comfortably into her clean little bed, opened the -window, put out the light and kissed her good-night.</p> - -<p>“If you want anything, call me!” she said. “Are you quite comfortable, -and all right, pet?”</p> - -<p>The child answered, “Yes, ma’am!” But almost before the door had closed -upon her benefactress, she was weeping bitterly.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_37">{37}</a></span></p> - -<p>Miss Julie let her sleep late the next morning, and when she finally -awakened, she was greeted by a new face, beyond words welcome to her, a -good wrinkled old Irish face. It was Mrs. Cronin, who came in to wash by -the day.</p> - -<p>“They’re all out!” she announced to the little girl. “You and me will be -keeping house together all the day. How will that suit ye?”</p> - -<p>Rosaleen said it would suit her grand; she dressed in great haste and -hurried into the kitchen, where Mrs. Cronin gave her some nice bitter -black tea which had been sitting on the stove this long while to get the -strength out of it. She likewise pilfered a little bacon fat from Miss -Amy’s carefully preserved jar, and fried an egg in it.</p> - -<p>And in the process muttered of Miss Amy, in uncomplimentary vein.</p> - -<p>“Her, with the long nose of her poking into every bit and bite a poor -old woman would be eating.... Never a drop of milk does she leave for -me, nor meat to taste on the tip of your tongue.... Well, now, then, how -do you like all of this, and the fine new home, and all?”</p> - -<p>“I do not like it,” said Rosaleen. “I wish....” She choked back a sob. -“I wish I was home again.”</p> - -<p>“Whist! Ye have no sinse at all!” cried Mrs. Cronin, secretly delighted. -“Did ye not sleep in a fine bed last night?<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_38">{38}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“The wind did be blowing on me!” she said. “For the window was left -open.”</p> - -<p>“<span class="lftspc">’</span>Tis one of their notions,” said Mrs. Cronin, scornfully. “They pay for -coal to keep up a fire the night long and then lave the windows wide.”</p> - -<p>Rosaleen then told her that she wasn’t used to sleeping in a room alone -or in the dark.</p> - -<p>“There’s a street light shines in our window the night through,” she -said, “and there’s the lot of us, my mother and my sister and the baby -and myself. ’Tis more sociable like.”</p> - -<p>They talked with gusto for hours. They were equals, in spite of the fact -that Mrs. Cronin was sixty and Rosaleen eleven. Mrs. Cronin told a -deeply interesting story of her sister’s boy who had been sent to a -Protectory, for no proper reason at all; a case of flagrant injustice -which Rosaleen understood perfectly, one of her own brothers having been -threatened. Rosaleen was not downcast now, or tongue tied; she, too, had -stories to tell. Modest and gentle she was, as ever, but a citizen of -the world, with experience, albeit vicarious.</p> - -<h4>IV</h4> - -<p><span class="smcap">It</span> had gone on for five years, a life of boredom, of loneliness, -mitigated only by the unfailing kindness of Miss Julie. A flat, insipid -existence. She<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_39">{39}</a></span> found the Humberts’ conversation unfailingly dull, their -routine almost intolerably stupid. She longed beyond measure for the -comfort and freedom of her old home.</p> - -<p>All this had astounded Miss Julie. She was never able really to see how -impossible was her task, never realised that she could not mould this -fragile and wistful child into a Humbert. Or reach her. Material -pleasures made no appeal to that simple soul; she cared next to nothing -for good food, good clothes, a soft bed. She was always docile, -thoroughly a good child, ready, obedient, sweet-tempered. She didn’t -give the least trouble, and never asked for anything. But she -nevertheless disappointed Miss Julie. She didn’t seem to change as she -should have changed. Their cultured atmosphere didn’t transform her. She -sat at their table night after night, meek and clean, with downcast -eyes, never speaking unless spoken to, always and forever the poor -widow’s child in the stranger’s house.</p> - -<p>Miss Julie did her best. She sent her to school; she gave her kind and -tactful information about baths and toothbrushes; she saw that she was -well fed and nicely dressed. She took her to the circus every spring, -and now and then to an entertainment considered suitable. Also she -taught her to play a<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_40">{40}</a></span> few babyish pieces on the piano, and, what most -pleased the little girl, she had begun to teach her to draw. When all -those activities were cut short by her death.</p> - -<p>Even now, after five years, Rosaleen couldn’t bear to look back upon -that. She had been desperate with grief, a little mad thing. She had -been brought in to look for the last time at her friend, she had seen -her lying there, much the same as usual, a stout, sallow woman with -blunt, good-humoured features. And for the first time that face did not -smile at her, that voice did not speak to console and to reassure her.</p> - -<p>Miss Amy had no comfort to give. She had never liked the child. She -consented now to keep her, because “dear Julie would have wished it,” -but she kept her as a servant, an unpaid servant, with “privileges.” She -sat at the table with them, she was still nicely dressed, she was given -a little—a very little—pocket money. And she was permitted to go every -Sunday afternoon to see her mother. Miss Amy had no inclination for -continuing Miss Julie’s battle. She did not wish to improve Rosaleen. -Miss Julie had tried with all her tact, all her ability, to divorce the -child from her family, but Miss Amy encouraged intercourse. It helped to -keep Rosaleen in her place.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_41">{41}</a></span></p> - -<h3><a id="CHAPTER_THREE-a"></a>CHAPTER THREE</h3> - -<h4>I</h4> - -<p><span class="smcap">Those</span> days were gone now. There were no more of those Sunday afternoons -in her mother’s kitchen. A sister had married well, and the whole family -had migrated to Boston, where the unwilling and resentful son-in-law -could “keep an eye” on them. Rosaleen had written two or three times to -her mother, but had never had an answer. And with her sorrowful -resignation, had given her up as lost.</p> - -<p>But whenever a dark hour came, her memory flew back to that spot, -recalled to her that time spent in the dreadful dirty old kitchen with -her mother, a little bit intoxicated, seated before the table covered -with oilcloth, and usually a neighbor or two, widow women, or married as -it might be, all drinking tea and complaining. There was always a baby -sister or brother crawling about the floor, and a cat; it was always -warm, steamy, indescribably friendly. The depth of it, the vitality, the -kind, consoling human flavour of it, of those slovenly women who were -forever bearing children, whose<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_42">{42}</a></span> talk was of life and death, of pain, -sorrow and earthly joys! Compared with it, the hurried artificial -conversation of Miss Amy and Mr. Humbert was like the talk of -shadows....</p> - -<p>She was thinking and thinking of it that night.</p> - -<p>“All right!” she said, bitterly. “I won’t deny it! I’m common! I’m not -happy here. I don’t belong here. I don’t appreciate it. I hate it! I -wouldn’t be like Miss Amy for anything.... Of course <i>he’d</i> soon see -that. He’d find out that I’m—common....”</p> - -<p>But she couldn’t bear the thought. She sat up in bed.</p> - -<p>“Oh, but I haven’t had a chance!” she cried. “I’ve <i>never</i> had a chance! -Oh!... If I could just see him alone, I could show him that I’m....”</p> - -<p>She could not explain to herself just what she knew herself to be, just -what it was that she wished this young man to know. It was that pitiful -secret thought of all human beings, whether a fallacy or a profound -truth can never be demonstrated—the thought that if you know me, you -will love me, that if you hold a poor opinion of me, it is because you -misunderstand me.</p> - -<p>Perhaps after all she would go, just this once, just see him, and trust -to his comprehension....</p> - -<p>She waked up the next morning, still undecided,<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_43">{43}</a></span> her heart as heavy as -lead. She dressed in the dismal twilight of her little cell, weighing -and deliberating, hesitating miserably. At last it resolved itself into -this bald alternative—which way would cause her the least pain—not to -meet him, to lose him forever now, at the very beginning, to destroy -this promise of the first interest any man had yet shown in her—or to -let it go on, to let her starved and ardent affection rush out to him, -to become fatally entangled in the web of her own making, only to have -him find her out and despise her?</p> - -<p>She went into the kitchen to get ready the breakfast, and in there, a -back room looking out over little yards, the sun was beginning to enter. -She could see a soft blue morning sky, with shadowy white clouds blown -across it by a mild and steady wind. It cheered her marvellously. She -was as easily made happy as she was easily hurt.</p> - -<p>She started to grind the coffee, in itself a cheerful morning noise.</p> - -<p>“Oh, nonsense!” she said to herself. “I’m making a mountain out of a -molehill. Of course I’ll go and meet him. Why shouldn’t I? It’s just a -lark. It won’t lead to anything, if I don’t want it to. There’s no need -for me to be so serious about it. I’m <i>going</i>!”</p> - -<p>She was well used to keeping her own counsel.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_44">{44}</a></span> She looked and she acted -just the same as usual; when Miss Amy appeared she found breakfast on -the table, as it should be, and Rosaleen occupying a few spare moments -in dusting.</p> - -<p>“Good morning, Miss Amy!” she said, in her gentle, her almost meek -little voice.</p> - -<p>Miss Amy answered curtly, and looked into the kitchen to see if all was -in order. She was a stout grey haired woman with a face as dark as a -gypsy’s and a long, sharp—an almost wolfish, nose. She had a perpetual -smile, a smile which she had schooled her lips to assume, in her -terrible efforts to subdue her own fierce nature. She was a woman of -natural ferocity and violence, but controlled and dominated by a -passionate desire to be good. So well did she rule herself that she very -rarely spoke a sharp word, and though she had a deep-rooted and -unshakable dislike for Rosaleen, she treated her with generosity. She -made her work; that, she considered, was good for her, and in every way -fitting and proper. But she likewise considered that she and her brother -were morally responsible for this girl, and she paid out of her own -pocket for Art Lessons, for an occasional Shakespearian matinée and -other items of cultural importance.</p> - -<p>Anyone who has experienced it will admit how immeasurably painful is the -combination of hostility<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_45">{45}</a></span> and gratitude. Rosaleen was obliged by her own -heart to dislike Miss Amy, and by her soul to recognise her -benefactions. They were in all things opposed and hostile. Rosaleen was -a fool possessed of common sense and Miss Amy was a practical woman -without any.</p> - -<p>Rosaleen brought in Miss Amy’s little dish of prunes.</p> - -<p>“Anything I can do for you downtown to-day, Miss Amy?” she asked.</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes, of course! It’s your lesson day. No, thank you, Rosaleen, -there is nothing.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Humbert now appeared to be fed. He ate, pretending to be absent -minded so that no one should bother him about anything, and went away to -his office. Then Miss Amy began leisurely to get herself ready to go to -market, while Rosaleen washed the dishes and made the beds.</p> - -<p>“You’d better hurry!” she said. “You’ll be late, Rosaleen!”</p> - -<p>But Rosaleen was only waiting for her to be gone, so that she could put -on her best blouse and her white gloves.</p> - -<h4>II</h4> - -<p><span class="smcap">Miss Julie</span> had always encouraged Rosaleen’s fondness for drawing. In -fact, it may have been<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_46">{46}</a></span> the drawing lessons she had given the little -girl and her fervent talk of “art” which had given Rosaleen the idea of -becoming an artist. But, whether the ambition was implanted by nature or -by Miss Julie, the ability was born with her. She had an undoubted -facility. In the long hours she had spent alone in the flat, she had -comforted herself with her little talent, copying the covers of -magazines and inventing romances around the imbecile beauties. And as -time went on, and her companions at school admired her work, her pride -and her hope increased. She saw in this career as an artist a chance of -escape, for freedom.</p> - -<p>When she was graduated from the High School, at eighteen, she said that -she should like to study art seriously. Miss Amy had agreed at once, and -Rosaleen had then showed her an advertisement in the Sunday paper which -she had noticed for some weeks.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">European Art Teacher</span> would accept one or two more young lady pupils. -Very moderate terms. Address F. W.</p> - -<p>They had addressed F. W., and in the due course of time received a -letter signed “Faith Waters,” inviting them to call the next afternoon -at four. They had discovered the European Art Teacher living in a dark, -old-fashioned flat on Tenth Street, with one light room at the back -which she had made into a<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_47">{47}</a></span> studio by filling it with plaster casts on -crooked shelves put up by her own hands. The teacher herself was a -withered little woman in a crushed and dusty brown dress, with a black -velvet bow in her cottony white hair, and she had the cultured voice of -one who has been to Europe.</p> - -<p>Rosaleen looked about at the photographs on the walls of various persons -in stage costume, signed <i>A ma chère Miss—Bien à vous</i>—and so on. She -supposed that these were artistic foreign friends of Miss Waters’, never -suspecting that they were nothing more nor less than second rate stage -people to whom she had taught English.</p> - -<p>“I suppose you’ve lived abroad a long time?” said Miss Amy.</p> - -<p>“Oh, dear me, yes!” said Miss Waters. “I studied in Brussels for -<i>years</i>!”</p> - -<p>She didn’t explain that this had been thirty years ago, and in a cheap -<i>pension de demoiselles</i>, and that she had never seen the inside of a -foreign art school, or studied under any master except the miserable old -man who had taught drawing as an extra to the demoiselles.</p> - -<p>“I’ll show you some of my work,” she had said. “I haven’t a proper place -to hang them here. The light is so bad you’ll hardly be able to -judge.... But still....<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_48">{48}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>She led the way to the dining-room, where her canvases hung in -profusion. She specialised in animal life, kittens, puppies, -and—timidly—horses. The horses were supernaturally stalwart and -spirited, with tremendous chests and heads flung back splendidly, but -Miss Waters was conscious of many weak points in them, grave -deficiencies. She knew that sweet little kittens were more in her line. -Horses were, after all, rather grossly big animals, and she did them -only as an exercise in virtuosity.</p> - -<p>Rosaleen and Miss Amy had been a trifle disappointed in Miss Waters’ -work. They both had a feeling that animals were not truly artistic. -Flowers, landscapes, women and children, were what they had expected and -desired. Still, a group of six puppies in a row, astoundingly alike and -yet each one in a different attitude, compelled their admiration.</p> - -<p>“Of course,” said Miss Waters, “<i>this</i> is my real work. The teaching is -only a side line. But I do <i>love</i> teaching. It is such a wonderful -privilege to help in developing a talent. Some of my pupils are among -the foremost artists in the country.”</p> - -<p>She needn’t have gone on so recklessly, because her visitors were -already in quite the frame of mind she desired. That, however, she -couldn’t know.</p> - -<p>“Portrait painters, landscape painters, painters of<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_49">{49}</a></span> historical and -religious subjects.... I’ve taught them all. And I’ve been—well,” she -confessed, with a modest smile. “I’ve been very fortunate, I must say. -My pupils are among the most celebrated artists in this country. Not -always the best <i>known</i>,” she hastened to add. “Their <i>names</i> might not -be familiar to you.... But they <i>rank</i> very high.”</p> - -<p>All superfluous. For Rosaleen and Miss Amy the fact of her being an -artist sufficed. They took it for granted that any artist knew all about -art, just as they would have expected any blacksmith to understand all -about horseshoeing. Then and there Rosaleen was put into her hands to be -developed.</p> - -<p>And she had been going faithfully, three days a week, for nearly two -years, progressing steadily under the system which Miss Waters had found -successful with her pupils in the past. A great deal of drawing in -charcoal from casts at first, then watercolours, and then oils. When you -began to work with oils, the drudgery was over; accuracy was no longer -required, or outlines. The system also included what Miss Waters called -“just a bit of the History of Art,” short talks and readings, which -contained not a vestige of information about art and some very -remarkable history. It was in fact nothing more than a collection of -anecdotes about artists. Generally there was a king, who visited the<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_50">{50}</a></span> -artist in disguise, or came up behind him on tiptoe, and who was struck -dumb by the verisimilitude of the painting before him. That was indeed -the measure of an artist’s greatness—that a horse tried to eat his -painted hay, a bird his fruit, that a man tried to sit upon his picture -of a chair, or to smell his flowers. A picture was a picture.</p> - -<p>Rosaleen had progressed beyond casts now, and was devoting herself to -watercolours. She was learning the Rules of Perspective, and her -suspicion was becoming confirmed, that Art was a sort of professional -mystery to be learned as one learned law or medicine. She began to feel -that she was getting a grasp of the thing.</p> - -<p>She was an altogether satisfactory pupil and Miss Waters was proud of -her; she was bright, docile, and very industrious.</p> - -<p>But what was the matter with her on <i>this</i> morning?</p> - -<p>She sat before her patient little drawing of a ruined castle on a -hilltop, unable to draw a line, making a weak little scratch now and -then, and rubbing it out as soon as it had appeared.</p> - -<p>“What <i>is</i> the trouble, Rosaleen?” asked Miss Waters. “Don’t you feel -well?<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_51">{51}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes, thank you, Miss Waters! I feel well. Only ... I don’t know -how it is ... but—I don’t feel like drawing a bit to-day.”</p> - -<p>“I know, my dear child!” said Miss Waters. “I’m the same way myself. -It’s the beautiful autumn weather. It’s hard to concentrate on work. It -puts me in mind of my student days, in Brussels.”</p> - -<p>She sighed. Those long years, in Paris and Brussels, trotting about from -one English family to another, teaching drawing, from one jolly -demi-mondaine to another, teaching English; the bare little rooms she -had shivered in, the dismal <i>pensions</i>, the dreadful straits in which -she had so often found herself, poor solitary muddle-headed little -foreigner! And yet she had loved it, that illusion of an artistic life; -friendless and poor as she was, she had had her pleasures, had dined at -the little restaurants where she could at least <i>see</i> artists, had spent -hours and days in the picture galleries, had felt gay and adventurous -and irresponsible.</p> - -<p>“I’ll tell you what, Rosaleen!” she cried suddenly. “Suppose we both go -out and take a turn round the square? It might do us both good—freshen -our brains!”</p> - -<p>Rosaleen looked at the clock. Half past two; her lesson didn’t end till -three, and she had allowed herself half an hour to get up to the -Library. She couldn’t think what to say.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_52">{52}</a></span></p> - -<p>Miss Waters believed that she hesitated because she didn’t want to waste -any of her lesson time.</p> - -<p>“We’ll go out, just for a ‘blow’,” she said. “And then you can come back -and work extra late, and we’ll have tea together. I haven’t any pupils -this afternoon.”</p> - -<p>“But—I have to stop at the Library and get a book for Miss Amy,” said -Rosaleen. “And—I promised to take it home early.”</p> - -<p>Miss Waters looked a trifle disappointed.</p> - -<p>“Well, then,” she said. “Go ahead working until your time’s up, and then -I’ll walk up to the Library with you.”</p> - -<p>Aghast, horrified, Rosaleen pretended to draw, thinking desperately of -some means of getting rid of Miss Waters. While all the time she could -hear Miss Waters getting ready, scrabbling about in her bedroom, -dropping things, and hunting for other things in bureau drawers. -Presently she came out, and in spite of the mild October day, she was -wearing her dreadful old sealskin coat with the high, puffed shoulders -that made her look so huddled, and perched high on her cottony hair, the -small fur hat that always blew off. It was always an infliction for -Rosaleen to walk with this poor old scarecrow, and on this day it was -nothing short of torture.</p> - -<p>Sedately, arm in arm, they walked along Tenth<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_53">{53}</a></span> Street and turned up -Fifth Avenue, Miss Waters leaning heavily upon Rosaleen and chattering -with youthful exuberance, roguishly aware of the glances that followed -her. And her hat did blow off, and bowled along ahead of them, like a -dusty, terrified little animal, until a man stopped it with his foot and -with disdain and in silence returned it to the dishevelled artist. She -thanked him, giggling, gathering her cottony hair in both hands to stuff -it back under the hat.</p> - -<p>“I thought I had a pin in it,” she explained.</p> - -<p>After this, she looked wilder than ever, and the rough October wind -swirling about her skirts revealed a hole in each of her stockings. And -presently she gave a dismayed shriek, and clutched her sealskin coat -about her.</p> - -<p>“Oh!” she cried. “The button’s just come off!”</p> - -<p>“What button?” asked Rosaleen.</p> - -<p>“The button on my coat. Have you a pin, my dear?”</p> - -<p>“I’m sorry, but I haven’t. Does it matter much?”</p> - -<p>“Of course! How can I keep my coat together?” Miss Waters demanded, -plaintively.</p> - -<p>“But—you must have more than <i>one</i> button!”</p> - -<p>“No, I really didn’t bother about sewing on the others.... <i>Oh!</i> ... My -<i>hat</i>!”</p> - -<p>And as she grasped after the hat with both hands<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_54">{54}</a></span> the coat flew wide -open, to reveal its tattered rose coloured lining, hanging in shreds, -and the crushed and dusty old dress.</p> - -<p>“Hadn’t we better go back?” said Rosaleen. “And I’ll come in and sew -your coat for you.”</p> - -<p>Anything would be better than to meet <i>him</i> with this companion; better -to lose him forever.</p> - -<p>“Oh, no, thank you, my dear. As long as I’ve gone this far, I’ll go the -rest of the way. I’ll fix it in the library.”</p> - -<p>So there was no escape possible. Arm in arm with Miss Waters she must -ascend the imposing flight of steps, enter the library, and advance -along the lofty corridors.</p> - -<p>She saw him! Sitting on a bench, reading a magazine with a sort of -severe preoccupation. But Rosaleen knew that he had seen them and was -only pretending he hadn’t. They drew nearer and nearer. She was thinking -frantically. Should she speak to him <i>anyway</i>, or was he annoyed at her -for coming with Miss Waters? Or was he simply being tactful, desiring to -avoid embarrassing her with his unsanctioned presence? She couldn’t -decide. They drew nearer and nearer ... they were abreast of him.... She -threw him one anguished glance, but he did not look up from his -magazine.... They passed him, and went into the circulating room.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_55">{55}</a></span></p> - -<p>This was too awful!</p> - -<p>“Would you just please ask if they have ‘Some Colonial Chairs’?” she -cried hastily to Miss Waters. “I think I see someone I know....”</p> - -<p>And rushed out. But he was no longer sitting on the bench. She caught a -glimpse of him, vanishing round the corner.</p> - -<p>She went back to Miss Waters, and had to carry home a huge, heavy volume -which she remembered Miss Amy having had from the library some years -ago.</p> - -<p>She got into the bus with it, waved a cheerful good-bye to Miss Waters, -and went off home.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_56">{56}</a></span></p> - -<h3><a id="CHAPTER_FOUR-a"></a>CHAPTER FOUR</h3> - -<h4>I</h4> - -<p><span class="smcap">She</span> was lost in an apathy of despair. He had come and he had gone, this -lover for whom she had been waiting for years. In all her solitude, her -restlessness, her great discontent, that had been her great hope; any -day she might meet him, any day it might happen, and her life would -really begin at last.</p> - -<p>And now it was over; he was gone, and there was nothing further to -expect. She let herself into the flat—her home—her prison—her grave.</p> - -<p>There was a great bolt of white stuff lying folded on the sewing machine -to be made up into respectable and sturdy underclothing for Miss Amy. -After she had taken off her hat and jacket and washed her hands, she sat -down before this work, which she usually attacked with such earnestness, -such professional interest. But her heart failed; she let the scissors -drop idly in her lap; to-day she could not work, to-day she didn’t care. -Her sombre eyes stared straight before her, at the transparency of -moonlit Venice.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_57">{57}</a></span></p> - -<p>“Oh!... If I’d been alone, we’d have taken a walk together ... I’d have -had a chance to be—attractive.... Now, of course, I’ll never see him -again. How can I? I don’t know where he lives.... He’ll never bother -with me any more. Why should he? Of course, he knows lots and lots of -beautiful society girls....”</p> - -<p>She sat there, thinking of the charming women he must see every day, and -who must of course all love him. She was sure that he knew dozens of -girls prettier, more accomplished, a hundred times more fascinating than -herself. And yet felt sure that if she had a proper chance, she could -win him, felt that there was some peculiar quality in her which was in -no other living woman.</p> - -<p>The afternoon dragged by in a weary and painful waking dream. She -hurried through the preparations for dinner, resentful of anything that -distracted her long reveries. Nothing else held the slightest interest -for her. If she <i>could</i> get him back? If she would ever see him again? -If the beneficent Fate which had brought him to her would still direct -the thing, would help her once again?</p> - -<p>They sat at the table, they talked, their usual constrained and formal -talk. Then Miss Amy went out and her brother returned to his room and -his great work—his romance of the time of Nero.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_58">{58}</a></span></p> - -<p>Rosaleen really admired it, without any particular interest in it. And -she felt a very feminine satisfaction that the man in the house had -found for himself an occupation which kept him quiet, and out of the -way. Every evening for years he had shut himself into his room directly -after dinner, to write. He had begun this romance when he had first come -to the city, but he did not progress rapidly, for he had often to -interrupt its course while he studied. His studying consisted in reading -“Quo Vadis” and “Ben Hur” and dozens and dozens of other novels of the -same sort, and making diagrams of their plots, according to a scheme he -had adopted from his well-read manual—“The Road to Authorship.” On -large sheets of paper he drew a wavering curve upward to the Climax, -then down, then perhaps up again two or three times, for all the little -anti-climaxes. Each character had its own wavering line, leading up and -down, crossing or running parallel to the “main theme.” In a big -exercise book he kept an index of the characters he had most admired in -all these novels, with little sketches of their histories, traits, etc.</p> - -<p>He now felt altogether familiar with that epoch. He knew just the proper -set of characters for the scene, a Christian slave girl, a gigantic, -faithful and muscular porter, a humourous pariah, and so on,<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_59">{59}</a></span> and all -the unfortunate crew of pious and humble folk predestined from the first -chapter for martyrdom. A romantic work, for Mr. Humbert was romantic, in -a masculine way, you must know, about facts, not about people.</p> - -<p>He enjoyed this literary work with immeasurable relish. It completely -distracted his mind from his business, from his home, from Life. He -didn’t care much for Life. It was too rough, too complicated, too large. -He was glad also to forget about his sister, whom he dreaded, and -Rosaleen, who worried him by her helplessness. She was a good, kind -girl, but he hadn’t much of an opinion of her. Uninteresting.... Her -only hope lay in marrying a decent, respectable man who would look after -her, and her chance of finding and securing such a man seemed to Mr. -Humbert very remote.</p> - -<p>He heard her stirring about in the kitchen, alone in there, washing the -dinner things. He shook his venerable head.</p> - -<p>“Poor Rosaleen!” he said, with a sigh.</p> - -<h4>II</h4> - -<p><span class="smcap">Rosaleen</span> had, in her long exile, cultivated a demeanour, an expression -which was quite unfathomable by her housemates. She had a sort of<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_60">{60}</a></span> meek -and lowly grace, so much the air of the grateful child rescued from -poverty, that it never occurred to them to regard her as anything but -this regulation type. Miss Amy had seen others of the same sort in the -course of her charitable labours. Of course, Rosaleen was grateful, or, -as Miss Amy preferred to put it, appreciative; how could she logically -be anything else? Miss Amy was not aware that in Rosaleen there was no -logic, no reason, and it must be admitted, very little justice. She was -completely composed of feeling. She had a perpetual resentment against -the Humberts which no sense of obligation could assuage. She -passionately preferred her frequently intoxicated and always avaricious -mother; although Miss Amy was undeniably a good woman and her mother was -no more and no less than a human being. Self-interest was absolutely -lacking in Rosaleen. She cared not a whit what you did for her, or could -do for her. She had an inexhaustible fund of devotion, of intense and -absurd affection, but it was not to be bought, it was not even to be -won. She had pity, mercy, compassion beyond measure, but it went only by -favour.</p> - -<p>And she had a limitless fortitude. She was not a fighter; she was not -one to struggle for what she desired; her strength was in her terrible -resignation,<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_61">{61}</a></span> her fatalistic endurance. She would weep—she was weeping -now—for this probable lover whom she had lost, but there was no -rebellion in her grief. From her very early days she had learned to look -upon life as a sad and ironic affair, from which one could expect -little.</p> - -<p>“Ah, that’s the way of the world!” her mother would say, but always of -some disaster.</p> - -<p>And it was no doubt the way of the world that this had happened.</p> - -<h4>III</h4> - -<p><span class="smcap">When</span> Friday came she didn’t go to Miss Waters’. She had not intended to -tell Miss Amy she wasn’t going, but to her dismay Miss Amy suddenly -returned at noon, and found her playing on the piano, one of the babyish -pieces of her small repertory, taught her by Miss Julie: “The Brownies’ -Ball.” Small consolation in that sprightly little tune for a suffering -heart, but it was all the music she could make, and she needed music.</p> - -<p>“What are you doing at home?” asked Miss Amy. “Isn’t it your day for -going to Miss Waters’?”</p> - -<p>“I don’t feel well,” said Rosaleen. “I have a headache.”</p> - -<p>“Then you’d better lie down, instead of sitting drumming on the piano.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_62">{62}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“I feel better when I’m sitting up, Miss Amy.”</p> - -<p>“I dare say you’re bilious. Put on your things and go take a good brisk -walk.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t feel a bit like taking a walk!” Rosaleen protested, but in -vain.</p> - -<p>“All the more reason for going!” said Miss Amy. “That sluggishness is a -symptom. Run along now!”</p> - -<p>She stood by grimly while the miserable and reluctant girl got ready and -went out. Then she went into the kitchen for a glass of water, and she -saw hanging up on a rack one of her blouses, beautifully laundered that -morning by the child who said she had a headache. It hung before her, -soft, lustrous, every little gather in place, the collar so crisp and -smooth, the embroidery standing out in fine relief. It looked like.... -Did it look like a reproach?</p> - -<h4>IV</h4> - -<p><span class="smcap">Saturday</span> followed, a busy day, devoted to house-cleaning. Rosaleen swept -and dusted and cleaned, took down curtains, beat rugs and sofa cushions, -and baked a cake, all according to custom. And Sunday, too, passed as it -always did. They all went to church in the morning, and spent the -afternoon in dignified drowsiness. Even Rosaleen was affected; she sat -in the front room with them, reading a book, but near the window, so -that from time<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_63">{63}</a></span> to time, when there was an interesting sound of -footsteps or voices, she could look out into the street. So many couples -going by, arm in arm....</p> - -<p>On Monday she was quite ready to go to Miss Waters’ again. Art had lost -its charm, to be sure, but it was something after all. Very little -compared to Love, but a great deal when compared to solitary -confinement.</p> - -<p>She went into the studio and sat down before her still unfinished -landscape, opened her paint box, and tried to begin her work.</p> - -<p>“Is that you, Rosaleen?” called a cheerful voice from the bedroom.</p> - -<p>“Yes, Miss Waters.”</p> - -<p>“You naughty girl!”</p> - -<p>“I know it.... I’m sorry I didn’t come down on Friday. But....”</p> - -<p>“My dear! I was young once myself! I don’t blame you, not the least bit -in the world. I don’t blame you for forgetting all about work! He’s -<i>per</i>fectly charming!”</p> - -<p>“<i>Who!</i>” cried Rosaleen.</p> - -<p>“Oh, I know all about it!” said Miss Waters archly. “That nice young man -of yours. You know that day we went to the library together? Well.... He -came tearing after me as I was walking down Fifth Avenue, and he asked -me if yo<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_64">{64}</a></span>u’d gone home.... The most beautiful manners, my dear!... A -real Southern gentleman!... He was so disappointed when he found you’d -gone. He said he’d seen us go <i>in</i>, and he was waiting for us to come -<i>out</i>. And he walked all the way down here with me, talking about you -all the time. And I said why didn’t he go to call on you? And he said he -would—that very evening.”</p> - -<p>“<i>Oh!... Miss Waters!</i>”</p> - -<p>The desperation in her voice startled the European Art Teacher. She came -out of her bedroom, still fastening the crooked little “vestee” of her -brown dress.</p> - -<p>“Did you miss him?” she asked, anxiously.</p> - -<p>“He never came!”</p> - -<p>“That’s queer! He said he would.... He sat down and talked—the longest -time.... No one could have been nicer.... He asked all sorts of -questions about you.”</p> - -<p>“Well, what did you <i>tell</i> him?” cried Rosaleen. “He never came!”</p> - -<p>Miss Waters sat down and thought, with a deep frown.</p> - -<p>“My dear, it couldn’t have been anything I said. Not possibly. I didn’t -speak of you except as an artist. I said how talented you were. And what -a lovely disposition you had. Nothing else at all.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_65">{65}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>No one could have better appreciated the situation than Miss Waters, no -one could have better understood the need for the most extreme care and -caution in dealing with men. The poor defrauded creature was convinced -that at least three of the sentimental “disappointments” of her past had -come from trifling mistakes she had made, minute errors of judgment -which had frightened away the elusive and fastidious male. Her eyes -filled with tears.</p> - -<p>“My dear!” she said. “I hope there’s no misunderstanding! So many young -people have had their lives absolutely wrecked and ruined by -misunderstandings.”</p> - -<p>Rosaleen shook her head.</p> - -<p>“No,” she said. “There isn’t any misunderstanding. There couldn’t be.... -But I don’t understand it.”</p> - -<p>She picked up her brushes and began to paint, and Miss Waters, to keep -her company, sat down before her easel, to put the finishing touches to -a copy she was making of one of her earlier works—“The School,” she had -called it, five puppies and five kittens, some in dunces’ caps, some -wearing spectacles. She was aware that she could no longer conceive and -execute such paintings now, she had to be satisfied with imitations of -her past virtuosity.</p> - -<p>Absorbed in their dismal reflections, they scarcely<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_66">{66}</a></span> noticed the flight -of time. Miss Waters looked up startled when the clock struck one.</p> - -<p>“<i>One o’clock!</i>” she observed. “I never imagined! Rosaleen, you must -stay and have lunch with me!”</p> - -<p>Rosaleen had nothing on earth to go home for, so she agreed, and the -hospitable Miss Waters rushed out to the French delicatessen nearby, -where she could buy curious and economical things.</p> - -<p>And whom should she see on the corner but that young man, standing there -patiently! She came up behind him, cautiously as a hunter stalking a -deer, and touched him on the arm.</p> - -<p>“Well!” she cried, in pretended surprise. “Mr. Landry!”</p> - -<p>She knew that he was waiting for Rosaleen, but she knew also that he -wouldn’t like her to know that. Oh, she did understand something of men! -She knew that his pride must be saved at any cost. So, when she saw a -bus drawing near, she pretended to believe that he was about to get into -it, and entreated him not to.</p> - -<p>“Oh, don’t get in!” she cried. “I wish you’d just stop in at my studio -and have a little lunch with Rosaleen and me. You’re not in too much of -a hurry, are you?”</p> - -<p>He smiled down at the dishevelled and anxious creature with streaming -white hair—like a witch, he<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_67">{67}</a></span> thought. He was pleased that she thought -he had been waiting for the bus, and he was very glad that neither she -nor anyone else knew that he had waited there on that corner on Friday -as well, remembering what he had been told were the days and hours of -Rosaleen’s lessons. And he was delighted that he could see Rosaleen and -pretend that it was accidental. He was surprised and a little ashamed at -his own longing to see her, by this feeling which he could not deny or -resist, for a girl of whom he knew nothing.</p> - -<p>“I’d be very pleased,” he said. And turned and walked down the street, -with Miss Waters hanging on his arm, both pockets of her famous fur coat -bulging with delicatessen.</p> - -<p>“How is your work coming on?” he asked Miss Waters. “<span class="lftspc">‘</span>The School?’ The -one you showed me?”</p> - -<p>“Oh!” she cried, archly, delighted at his remembering. “The idea! I -haven’t done much more on it since then. However, I’ll show you.”</p> - -<p>She led him down the hall, and at the door of her flat turned, with a -finger at her lips.</p> - -<p>“Surprise her!” she whispered.</p> - -<p>Landry followed her to the studio and stood obediently quiet on the -threshold, to contemplate his unconscious Rosaleen. And became lost, -absorbed in looking at her.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_68">{68}</a></span></p> - -<p>She seemed so much younger, like a school girl, in her sailor blouse, -with her fair, untidy hair and her serious preoccupation with her work. -How dear she was! How innocent and fine and lovely!</p> - -<p>“Rosaleen!” called Miss Waters, in a voice trembling with excitement.</p> - -<p>Rosaleen glanced up, to meet the serious and unsmiling regard of her -hero.</p> - -<p>They were both confused, embarrassed, almost alarmed; their eyes met in -a glance singularly bold and significant, belying their formal smiles, -their casual words.</p> - -<p>“I missed you the other day,” said Landry.</p> - -<p>“I know ... I was sorry ... I had to hurry home....”</p> - -<p>He crossed the room and stood beside her, looking down at her drawing.</p> - -<p>“It’s very pretty,” he said, with constraint. “What is it for?”</p> - -<p>“Oh!... Just a picture!”</p> - -<p>Miss Waters had been watching them like a stage director.</p> - -<p>“Sit down, Mr. Landry!” she said.</p> - -<p>“I don’t like to interrupt Miss Humbert’s work....”</p> - -<p>“Nonsense! She’s a very good pupil, you know, and she can afford to take -a little holiday, now and<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_69">{69}</a></span> then. And you’re going to stay and have a -little lunch with us, aren’t you?”</p> - -<p>He yielded, because he hadn’t the heart to do as he wished—to ask -Rosaleen out to lunch and leave the poor old creature behind.</p> - -<p>“I’ll have something nice and tasty ready in a jiffy!” she cried. -“Rosaleen, you entertain Mr. Landry!”</p> - -<p>They were left alone, Landry standing beside Rosaleen, both of them -speechless. He looked stealthily down at her, at her light hair, at the -soft colour in her cheeks, at her pretty childish throat rising from the -open neck of her sailor blouse. And he bent down and kissed her cheek.</p> - -<p>She didn’t look up; she bent lower over her work.</p> - -<p>“Rosaleen!” he said. “You darling!”</p> - -<p>“I’m awfully glad to see you!” she murmured. “I thought....”</p> - -<p>“What did you think?”</p> - -<p>“I thought—perhaps I shouldn’t ever see you again.”</p> - -<p>“I had to come,” he said, truthfully, “I couldn’t help it.”</p> - -<p>And fell silent, startled by his own words, by his own course of -conduct, so altogether different from what he had planned. He had -particularly wished to avoid seeing Rosaleen alone. He had certainly<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_70">{70}</a></span> -not expected to kiss her, or to want to kiss her. He walked across the -room and pretended to be looking at Miss Waters’ picture. He was ashamed -of himself; he had no business to kiss her; it was dishonourable and -unkind. He stole a glance at her, and saw her, still bending over her -work, but with flaming cheeks and a hand that trembled. He couldn’t bear -that! He strode over to her.</p> - -<p>“I’m sorry!” he cried.</p> - -<p>Of course she didn’t answer; he didn’t expect her to.</p> - -<p>“Please let me come to see you!” he went on. “I want to know you -better.... I’ll tell you all about myself....”</p> - -<p>“Oh, no!” she cried. “I can’t! Really I can’t! I can’t have anyone! I’m -sorry, but—I can’t!”</p> - -<p>“But—can’t I see you again, then? Don’t you—won’t you let me...?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, I do want to see you,” she answered candidly. “Only—not at home. -Can’t we meet somewhere?”</p> - -<p>“But don’t you see?” he said with an earnest scowl. “It—it isn’t the -thing. If you’ll let me come to your house, and—more or less explain -myself, it makes everything quite different. If I could see your -parents....”</p> - -<p>“I—they aren’t my parents. It’s—an uncle.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_71">{71}</a></span>... But—what could I tell -them, anyway? If I said I’d met you like that, on the bus——”</p> - -<p>“I quite understand that. But you could say that you’d met me here at -Miss Waters’. You have, you know. It would be true.”</p> - -<p>“No!” she protested, with such vehemence that he was startled. “I can’t -let you come. I’ll meet you somewhere——”</p> - -<p>“Look here!” he said, severely. “You can’t—it’s not the thing for a -girl like you to be meeting a man on street corners, like a servant -girl.”</p> - -<p>Her face grew scarlet.</p> - -<p>“Very well!” she cried. “You needn’t see me at all then!”</p> - -<p>He retreated instantly before her wrath.</p> - -<p>“All right!” he said, hastily. “I <i>will</i> meet you—anywhere you like.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, no you won’t!... I’m not going to....” A sudden loud sob -interrupted her. “ ... not—like—a servant girl....”</p> - -<p>He was horrified at the sight of tears in her eyes.</p> - -<p>“I didn’t mean that!” he cried. “Please don’t! Please don’t! I think -you—you’re perfect!”</p> - -<p>And before he knew it, his arm was about her shoulder, and her head -pressed against his chest, a clumsy, a boyish embrace.</p> - -<p>“Don’t cry, darling!” he entreated.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_72">{72}</a></span></p> - -<p>She remained motionless. And with a respectful hand he touched her hair.</p> - -<p>“Please meet me!” he said.</p> - -<p>“In the library—on Wednesday—at four.”</p> - -<p>She didn’t ask; she commanded. And he submitted.</p> - -<h4>V</h4> - -<p><span class="smcap">Miss Waters</span> entered with the lunch on a tray, and young Landry sprang to -assist her. He was, Rosaleen observed, remarkably nice and tactful with -Miss Waters. He ate what she had provided and praised it. Afterward she -brought out a white china flower pot half filled with moist, bent -cigarettes, and offered him one; took one herself, too, though it caused -her to cough horribly and would very likely make her sick. However, it -gave a European touch. She was enchanted with the atmosphere, to find -herself nonchalantly smoking cigarettes in a studio in the company of a -young and attractive man.</p> - -<p>She had a rhapsody of praise for him after he had gone, and Rosaleen -listened to it with delight. Then she too went home. She was proud, -triumphant, exultant. But it was a most perilous joy; she dared not -examine it. Those words haunted<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_73">{73}</a></span> her. She mustn’t meet him on street -corners—like a servant girl.</p> - -<p>She was dusting the top of Mr. Humbert’s desk.</p> - -<p>“What else am I?” she asked herself, with terrible bitterness. “They -talk about my ‘advantages,’ and my being a ‘member of the household’.... -But what am I really?”</p> - -<p>She flung down the cloth.</p> - -<p>“Oh, what’s the use!” she cried. “It might just as well end now, better -end now—than after he finds out.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_74">{74}</a></span>”</p> - -<h3><a id="CHAPTER_FIVE-a"></a>CHAPTER FIVE</h3> - -<h4>I</h4> - -<p><span class="smcap">Rosaleen’s</span> great mistake lay in not telling him <i>then</i>. Because at this -time he wouldn’t have cared. At this moment she was still a romantic and -thrilling figure, not yet quite flesh and blood, still without flaw or -fault. Her pitiful history would only have enslaved him more completely. -And as he grew to know her better, he would have known her with this -fact, this history in his mind. Whereas, on the contrary, he was -beginning to love a girl who did not exist.</p> - -<p>He saw her transcendent kindness, her absolute lack of egoism, her rare -and lovely spirit, but he called it and he thought of it as ladylike -delicacy. It was her soul; he thought it was her manners.</p> - -<p>He walked all the way home, reflecting upon her, lost in a revery half -troubled, half delightful. A sweet, a wonderful girl—but obstinate. And -obstinacy he did not like. He was the most outrageous young tyrant who -ever lived. He ruled everyone, he always had ruled everyone. His mother -had never thwarted him, his sister had never rebelled;<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_75">{75}</a></span> whatever friends -he had selected in school and college had followed his lead with -satisfactory submissiveness. He had the qualities of a leader; the -immense self-assurance, the severe determination to get his own way, and -he had that magic idea in his mind, which subtly communicates itself and -changes the very atmosphere, which enthralls all minds more sensitive -and therefore less positive—that idea of his own superiority. He came -of an old Carolina family, and he believed himself to be better born -than anyone about him; he had been successful in his studies, and he -believed himself to be cleverer than anyone about him. Appearance didn’t -trouble him; he didn’t think himself handsome, and he didn’t care. He -knew very well that he was attractive, and that people liked him. Even -the fact of being poor didn’t bother him. He wouldn’t stay so.</p> - -<p>So, lordly and thoughtful, in his shabby overcoat and his worn shoes, he -mounted the steps of the imposing house in which he was living—his -aunt’s house. She had begged him to live there until he was “settled.” -He had consented; he didn’t feel under obligations; he thought it was -nice of her, but her duty. He would have been glad, in her place, to -help a young Landry to get on his feet.</p> - -<p>A respectful Negro butler opened the door, and he entered and went up to -his own room—a hand<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_76">{76}</a></span>some and well-furnished room, with bureaus and -wardrobe and chest of drawers all lamentably empty. In the huge closet -hung only a decent suit of evening clothes and some white flannel -trousers, and in two of the bureau drawers lay piles of shirts and -underwear which his aunt herself mended and mended. She wouldn’t have so -much as suggested replenishing his stock; he would have felt himself -grossly insulted.</p> - -<p>He had left his beloved mother and sister in Charleston, where they were -living with difficulty on a very small pension, and he took from them -only an incredibly small sum, enough for carfares and that sort of -thing, until he could be earning something. But though waiting was hard -for them and hard for him, he would not be hurried. Until he could find -a place which seemed to him advantageous, he would take nothing. He knew -what he was about. Now was his chance, and perhaps his only chance, to -look about him. He intended to make a good start, to go into a business -in which he could stop. Let him only see an opportunity; he asked no -more.</p> - -<p>This evening his plan for the future was changed and enlarged. It -contained, as always, lavish provision for his mother and sister, but it -included<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_77">{77}</a></span> Rosaleen. In the course of the next few years he was going to -marry her.</p> - -<p>He had, however, too much sense to mention anything of this, to hint at -the existence of a Rosaleen, in that household. It wouldn’t be gallant. -He was supposed to admire his cousin Caroline; not to the point of -compromising himself; everyone knew he wasn’t in love with her. But -while living there and seeing her every day, it wouldn’t, he felt, be -polite to fall openly in love with someone else.</p> - -<p>His aunt was a woman whom he thoroughly admired. Possessed of a gracious -and charming worldliness, she had nevertheless the most severe morals, -the most rigid code. She didn’t like New York or its people; she was -shocked at almost everything; she said the women weren’t ladies and the -men weren’t chivalrous; that the people altogether were vulgar and -“fast.” But, she said, she was obliged to live there for the sake of -Caroline’s studies. It wasn’t really quite that; however, her intention -was natural and praiseworthy, and she did her best to accomplish her -unspoken ambition for her child.</p> - -<p>Nick Landry enjoyed living there. It was a well-appointed and -well-managed home, with an air of perpetual festivity. There were always -young men about, and theatre parties and dinner parties and little -dances—all the charmed atmosphere of a<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_78">{78}</a></span> home with a young girl in it. -Mrs. Allanby had known how to make the place agreeable, even fascinating -for young men. That was her part; to provide Caroline with a matchless -setting. To see Caroline sitting at the piano, under a lamp with a shade -of artfully selected tint, charmingly dressed, and singing in a voice a -bit colourless but so well bred; to know that there would be punch—not -too much of it, for Mrs. Allanby was vigilant,—sandwiches and cakes -such as no one else ever had; and an air of flattering attention, an -enveloping hospitality—wasn’t that a deadly snare? And Nick was the -privileged guest, the man of the house. Of course he liked it!</p> - -<p>So that evening while he sat there listening to Caroline sing, and -thinking all the time of Rosaleen, he felt almost treacherous. And just -a little proud of his well-concealed secret. He felt that his dark face -was inscrutable....</p> - -<p>Perhaps, he thought, at that very instant, Rosaleen too was sitting at -the piano in her home.</p> - -<h4>II</h4> - -<p><span class="smcap">It</span> was one of Nick’s old-fashioned ideas—that a man must always be the -first to appear at a tryst, must unfailingly be found waiting by the -beloved<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_79">{79}</a></span> woman when she arrived. He had made a point of being at least -fifteen minutes in advance of the appointed time, so that Rosaleen -should see him there, in chivalrous if somewhat irritable patience. He -was always ready to wait for a woman, to defer to her, to serve her; he -believed it to be his duty as a gentleman; and yet so fierce and haughty -was his spirit that he was never without an inward resentment.</p> - -<p>He was waiting for her now in the corridor of the Fifth Avenue library. -It was a wet October afternoon; he sat on a stone bench with his coat -collar still turned up, the brim of his hat still turned down, just as -he had come in from the street. He hadn’t even taken off his tan gloves, -soaked black by the rain; he didn’t care how he looked, and he knew -Rosaleen wouldn’t care either. He had certainly not the look of an -expectant lover, this lean and shabby young man with his haughty glance, -his ready-made overcoat too large for him, his big rubber overshoes over -old and shapeless boots. And yet more than one girl stole a glance at -him.</p> - -<p>Quarter of an hour late! He only wished that he could smoke. He was -beginning to feel chilly, too, and terribly depressed. Wet people going -past him and past him, some alone, some in couples, treading and talking -quietly. He regarded them<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_80">{80}</a></span> with morose interest. All of them after -books!... Hadn’t he too tried to live that way, vicariously, through -books? All very well as a substitute; but there came back to him now, -very vividly, the bitter restlessness, the torment that would seize him -when he read of some enchanting foreign land, of fierce and desperate -adventures. Of course he knew that his life wouldn’t be, and couldn’t -be, at all like any other life ever lived in this world; and yet, in -spite of his faith in his own destiny, he fretted so, he chafed so at -these slow years, these hours so wasted. What was the matter? Why didn’t -life begin?</p> - -<p>He was pleased enough with this romance with Rosaleen. This was quite as -good as anything in books. Only, to be really perfect, love should have -been mixed up with peril, with terror, with gallant rescues. It should -have been a drama, and it was nothing but an emotion. He was still so -young that he could not imagine death; it seemed to him inevitable that -he should live and that Rosaleen should live, until they were -old—granted, of course, the absurd premise that young people really -<i>do</i> become old. He saw no shadow over life, no fear of change or loss.</p> - -<p>He stirred uneasily. Twenty minutes late! This was abusing her feminine -privilege! Doubly unfor<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_81">{81}</a></span>tunate, too, because he had come prepared to -remonstrate with Rosaleen, and the longer she kept him waiting, the -chillier and damper he grew, the more severe would the remonstrance be.</p> - -<p>At last he saw her coming, and her sweetness almost disarmed him. And -then made him even more severe. A girl like that, to be meeting a man -about in public places! A girl so pretty, so charming, that people -stared at her.... The damp air and her haste had given her a lovely -colour, and as she hurried toward him, he found for her a pitifully -time-worn simile which nevertheless struck him as startlingly novel and -true—she was like a wild rose.</p> - -<p>She had very little “style”; her clothes were rather cheap, he observed. -But she was superlatively ladylike, refined, modest. He wouldn’t have -had anything changed, from her sturdy little boots to her plain dark -hat.</p> - -<p>He rose and came toward her, hat in hand, and for a moment they looked -at each other, speechlessly.</p> - -<p>“Suppose we have tea?” he said, at last. “There’s a nice place near here -where they have very good waffles.”</p> - -<p>“I’m not a bit hungry,” said Rosaleen.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_82">{82}</a></span></p> - -<p>Nick was. He had gone without lunch in order to have enough money for -tea.</p> - -<p>“You ought to be, at your age,” he said.</p> - -<p>“It isn’t age that makes you hungry,” said Rosaleen. “It’s what you’ve -had for lunch.”</p> - -<p>Nick said no more, but took her by the arm. And was surprised and -shocked to feel how fragile an arm it was. He determined that she should -eat a great deal.</p> - -<p>He stopped near the door to reclaim their umbrellas, and they went out -together into the chilly and misty twilight. The crowds on Fifth Avenue -jostled them, but Nick, tall and grim, held his umbrella high over -Rosaleen’s head, and led her to the quiet little tea room he had -selected.</p> - -<p>“Now, then!” he said, when they were seated opposite each other at a -small table, and tea and waffles and honey had been ordered. And he -began.</p> - -<p>He told her first of all what was expected of a young girl:</p> - -<p>By the world in general.</p> - -<p>By men.</p> - -<p>By himself.</p> - -<p>He told her how easy it was to be misjudged.</p> - -<p>And how serious.</p> - -<p>Then he told her how he particularly didn’t want <i>her</i> to be misjudged.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_83">{83}</a></span></p> - -<p>“You <i>must</i> let me come to see you in your own home!” he said. “You’re -so young that you don’t realize how indiscreet and—how dangerous it is -to be meeting a strange man this way. You don’t know anything about me. -And you ought to. I want you to. There isn’t anything I want to—to -conceal. I want you to know me and all about me. And I want to know all -about you.”</p> - -<p>Once more he was horribly disturbed at seeing her eyes fill with tears. -He leaned across the table.</p> - -<p>“Look here!” he assured her. “Please! Don’t <i>care</i>! Don’t imagine -that—if there’s anything you think I might....”</p> - -<p>He didn’t know how to proceed. He stopped a moment, frowning, to arrange -his ideas.</p> - -<p>“I don’t care <i>where</i> you live, or <i>how</i> you live, or <i>what</i> your people -are,” he said. “It can’t make any difference to me. It’s only for your -sake. I wish you’d believe me. It’s only because it’s not fair to you to -go on meeting you like this. Because I mean to go on. I’m <i>going</i> to see -you. And I want it to be in your home. Please let me, Rosaleen.”</p> - -<p>It was the first time he had used her name.</p> - -<p>“Please let me!” he entreated.</p> - -<p>She gave up. She told him yes, to-morrow evening; for Miss Amy would not -be home then.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_84">{84}</a></span></p> - -<h4>III</h4> - -<p><span class="smcap">It</span> was a nice, respectable house in a quiet street below Morningside -Park. He was agreeably surprised at its respectability, for he had -scented a mystery in Rosaleen’s reluctance to have him come—great -poverty, perhaps, or a disreputable relative. He went into the -vestibule, and looked for the bell. There it was—Humbert—; he rang; -the door clicked, and he entered. An old-fashioned house, the carpeted -halls were dark and stuffy; he climbed up and up, and on the fourth -landing there stood Rosaleen.</p> - -<p>She was very pale, and the hand she held out to him was cold as ice. An -altogether unfamiliar Rosaleen, silent, even, it struck him, a -<i>desperate</i> girl. She led him into the dining room.</p> - -<p>“Excuse me just a moment!” she said. “I’ll tell—my uncle—you’re here.”</p> - -<p>And vanished, leaving him alone. He looked about him with interest, -because it was Rosaleen’s home. And he was sorry that it was such a -stuffy and unlovely one. He was used to large rooms and fine old -furniture, to a sort of dignity and fineness in living. This dining -room, with its swarm of decorations, the crowded pictures, the scrawny -plants, the flimsy and ugly varnished furniture, the sewing ma<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_85">{85}</a></span>chine, -the dark red paper on the walls, distressed him. He sat down on one of -the straight chairs against the wall to wait, trying to imagine his fair -Rosaleen in this setting.</p> - -<p>In the meantime Rosaleen had hurried to knock at the door of Mr. -Humbert’s room.</p> - -<p>“Mr. Morton!” she murmured. “Here’s a young man—a—a friend of Miss -Waters.... Would you like to come out and see him?”</p> - -<p>“Presently,” the dignified voice replied, and Rosaleen hastened back.</p> - -<p>“He’ll be in presently,” she repeated to Nick, as she returned. He had -risen when she entered, and once more he took her hand. Her nervousness, -her distress, filled him with pity.</p> - -<p>“Isn’t there anyone else? Do you live all alone with your uncle?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, no! There’s ... there’s—a—cousin.... But she’s out.... Won’t you -sit down?”</p> - -<p>When he had done so, she fetched him a book from a little table.</p> - -<p>“Would you like to look at some views?” she asked.</p> - -<p>“No,” said Nick, smiling. “I wouldn’t.”</p> - -<p>“Would you like to play cards?”</p> - -<p>“No! I’d rather talk to you!”</p> - -<p>She sat down on the edge of the couch—that<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_86">{86}</a></span> couch covered with green -corduroy, with <i>nine</i> sofa cushions of the most frightful sort.</p> - -<p>Now Nick unconsciously expected a girl to do the talking, and the -pleasing and the entertaining. Gallant responses were his part. So he -waited, but quite in vain, for Rosaleen had no tradition of -entertaining, and no experience. Never before had she sat in that room -with a young man.</p> - -<p>“Have you any of your work here?” he asked, at last, in despair.</p> - -<p>“Just those!” she answered, pointing to the transparencies. “There isn’t -any place for me to draw here.”</p> - -<p>“Very pretty!” said Nick. “Are you going to be a professional artist?”</p> - -<p>“I hope so. It takes years, though.”</p> - -<p>She was silent for a moment; then she went on, dejectedly:</p> - -<p>“Sometimes I think I never will succeed. I don’t seem to improve. And I -love it so——”</p> - -<p>“Don’t take it so seriously.”</p> - -<p>“I have to. I’ve got to earn a living by it.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t believe you’ll ever have to earn your living,” said Nick. “Not -a girl as—lovely as you.”</p> - -<p>She blushed painfully, even her neck grew scarlet. And he felt his own -face grow hot.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_87">{87}</a></span></p> - -<p>“I...” he began. “There are sure to be plenty of men who’ll want to do -that for you.”</p> - -<p>There was a distressing silence. He found it very hard to keep from -saying:</p> - -<p>“<i>I</i> will! <i>I’m</i> going to work for you, and get you everything in the -world you want, darling wild rose!”</p> - -<p>And to divert his mind from this dangerous thought, he rose and picked -up the book she had had in her hand.</p> - -<p>“Are these the ‘views’?” he asked. “Looks very interesting.... Won’t you -show them to me?”</p> - -<p>And he sat down beside her on the couch. He really didn’t think it a -particularly significant or daring thing to do; he had sat beside a -great many other girls; he was neither impudent nor presumptuous, and no -one ever had objected or seemed at all disturbed. So that he was -surprised at Rosaleen’s agitation. He didn’t know how formidable he was -to her; how mysterious, how irresistible. Her hands shook as she took -the book of views and opened it.</p> - -<p>But, before she had spoken a single word, the sound of a footstep in the -hall made her jump up and seat herself in a nearby chair with her book, -and none too soon, for the curtains parted and a venerable, grey-bearded -old gentleman looked in.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_88">{88}</a></span></p> - -<p>“Won’t you come in?” said Rosaleen, while Nick got up.</p> - -<p>The old gentleman advanced and held out his hand to Nick with a -scholarly sort of smile.</p> - -<p>“<i>Good</i> evening, sir!” he said. “I was sorry not to have welcomed you -with somewhat greater cordiality when you first came in, but I was hard -at my work.”</p> - -<p>“Not at all!” Nick murmured.</p> - -<p>“And that sort of work makes its demands, I can tell you! They who know -not speak lightly of ‘writing,’ as of a pleasant diversion; but we -initiated ones...! The evening is the only time that I can confidently -claim as my own, so you will understand that I dare not waste a moment -of the Muse’s presence.”</p> - -<p>Which, considering that the poor old chap had acquired all his -scholarship alone and unaided, and after he was more or less mature, was -a creditable speech. But young Landry, <i>not</i> knowing the circumstances, -was not impressed. He said, “Certainly!”</p> - -<p>“I suppose Rosaleen has told you something of my literary labours?” he -enquired, “A romance of the time of Nero. A poor thing, I dare say, but -mine own. And, whether or not it takes the public<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_89">{89}</a></span> fancy, it has at -least served to beguile many weary hours for its creator.”</p> - -<p>This was out of his preface; a bit he was very fond of.</p> - -<p>“I don’t know whether you are a student of history, sir,” the old -gentleman went on. “But if the subject interests you at all, I have some -exceedingly interesting pictures—views of the Holy Land, which I should -be very pleased to show you.”</p> - -<p>“Thank you very much,” said Nick. “I should like to see them—some time. -But I’m afraid I can’t wait now....”</p> - -<p>The scholar shook his head.</p> - -<p>“My dear sir,” he said, smiling. “I certainly did not propose to begin -so extensive an undertaking at the present hour. It would take you half -a day to assimilate the material I have on hand. I thought only to -introduce you to the subject, to give you—as one might say—a glimpse -of the glories to come.”</p> - -<p>He crossed the room and picked up the very book Rosaleen had laid down.</p> - -<p>“This is our starting point,” he said. “It is from this quaint little -old world village that my very dear friend, the Reverend Nathan Peters, -set out on his remarkable trip. The record of that trip may be found in -his book ‘Following the Old Trail.’ The written record, that is. The -pictorial record<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_90">{90}</a></span>—which I think I may venture to call the most uniquely -interesting and fascinating thing of its sort now in existence—he -entrusted to me, and it forms the basis of this collection of -photographs, original drawings, and paintings.”</p> - -<p>Nick could not get away. He was obliged once more to seat himself on the -sofa, this time beside a bearded old gentleman, and to look and listen -for an interminable time. He had to watch desperately for a moment to -escape, and he had to go without a word to Rosaleen, except a formal -“good-evening.” The uncle accompanied him to the front door, even to the -top of the stairs, to invite him cordially to come again.</p> - -<h4>IV</h4> - -<p><span class="smcap">Outside</span> in the street he stopped to light a cigarette. And to sigh with -relief. What an evening!</p> - -<p>And still was happy, very happy, because Rosaleen was so respectable.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_91">{91}</a></span></p> - -<h3><a id="CHAPTER_SIX-a"></a>CHAPTER SIX</h3> - -<h4>I</h4> - -<p><span class="smcap">From</span> the midst of entrancing dreams Rosaleen was awakened the next -morning by a most unwelcome voice, and she opened her eyes to find Miss -Amy sitting on the edge of her bed. She had been asleep when Miss Amy -came in the night before, but she had never expected, never even hoped -that she would be able to avoid a dreadful cross-examination. And here -it was beginning.</p> - -<p>“Mr. Morton tells me you had a young man in here last evening,” she was -saying. “I should like you to explain it. Who was he?”</p> - -<p>Rosaleen, terribly at a disadvantage, thus lying flat in bed, -dishevelled and surprised, answered that he was a friend of Miss Waters.</p> - -<p>“Why did he come here?”</p> - -<p>“I—he said he wanted to call....”</p> - -<p>“And you gave him this permission without consulting me?”</p> - -<p>“I didn’t think you’d mind——”</p> - -<p>“I <i>do</i> mind, Rosaleen. I mind very much. It was something you had no -right to do.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_92">{92}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“I won’t again,” said Rosaleen.</p> - -<p>“I should hope not. Who was he?”</p> - -<p>“A friend of Miss Waters.”</p> - -<p>“What was his name?”</p> - -<p>“Mr. Landry.”</p> - -<p>“What is he? What does he do? Where does he live?”</p> - -<p>“I don’t know.”</p> - -<p>Miss Amy got up.</p> - -<p>“I shall telephone to Miss Waters and ask her.”</p> - -<p>“No!” said Rosaleen. “Don’t! Please!... I’ll never let him come -again....”</p> - -<p>“That makes no difference. It’s my duty to know what sort of young men -you’re asking into this house. I shall certainly ask Miss Waters for a -little further information.”</p> - -<p>“She won’t know!” cried Rosaleen. “He—she doesn’t know him very -well.... He just happened to drop in at her studio one day....”</p> - -<p>“Why?”</p> - -<p>“To see about a picture....”</p> - -<p>“Is he an artist?”</p> - -<p>“I—don’t think so.”</p> - -<p>“How often have you seen him?”</p> - -<p>“Oh!... I don’t know—exactly....”</p> - -<p>She sat up suddenly.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_93">{93}</a></span></p> - -<p>“Won’t it satisfy you if I never have him here again?” she cried. “Or -anybody else, ever?”</p> - -<p>“No. I want you to have him here again. I want to see him.”</p> - -<p>Rosaleen looked at that impassive wolfish face, at those black eyes -scrutinizing her behind their eyeglasses, and a profound distrust came -over her. In that instant, for the first time, she questioned the -motives of her benefactress; she doubted her goodness. Instead of duty -in her glance, she saw malice. Never, never, if she could possibly help -it, should Miss Amy and Nick Landry come face to face.</p> - -<p>She relapsed into what Miss Amy called a “sullen silence,” but which was -in reality only a desperate silence. There sat that woman on her bed, -formulating God knows what plans against her. She was so helpless! She -lay back on her pillow, as if she were bound hand and foot, her soft -hair spread about her, her face stony with despair, the very picture of -a maiden victim.</p> - -<p>“I am sorry you forgot yourself to such an extent,” observed Miss Amy, -and rose. “Get up now and dress; it’s late.”</p> - -<p>Rosaleen sprang out of bed.</p> - -<p>“What <i>can</i> I <i>possibly</i> tell him?” she cried to herself. “He’ll want to -come again, of course.... What can I tell him?<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_94">{94}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>She looked for him at Miss Waters’ studio the next afternoon, looked for -him with vehement longing. She was in such terror that he would go to -the flat again and be met there by Miss Amy. If she had known where he -lived, she would have written to him, to entreat him not to do so. But -that course blocked, she could do nothing but hope and hope that he -would instead come to the studio, where she could tell him.... She -didn’t care <i>what</i> she told him, what monstrous thing she invented, if -only she kept him away.</p> - -<p>He didn’t come. She flagrantly neglected her work. Leaning back against -the wall, arms clasped behind her head, she gossiped with Miss Waters. -And Miss Waters, stifling a feeling of guilt at thus not earning her -money, gave herself without restraint to this illicit, this joyful -chatter. For Rosaleen was joyful, in spite of her great anxiety, her -dread of losing her Nicholas. Even if she lost him now, she would have -the happiness of knowing that one man at least had looked upon her with -tenderness and delight.</p> - -<p>Miss Waters talked about Brussels and Paris, of course, and to-day, with -new boldness, began to speak of Love. Hitherto she had never mentioned -this topic, but now that Rosaleen had a young man, she felt she might -consider her altogether mature,<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_95">{95}</a></span> initiated, so to speak. So she told a -long and thrilling story of an artist—a very poor young artist—who had -fallen in love with a wealthy young girl of good family. And how cruel -she was to him. It was difficult to understand why they had so eagerly -desired these meetings which Miss Waters feelingly described, for -apparently she had come to the rendezvous only to be cruel, and he only -to weep and to suffer. By and by she had married a distinguished man, -and the young artist began, with true French propriety, to die of -consumption. Then the lady, not to be outdone, began to suffer too; the -anguish of remorse. She compromised her name by visiting his studio as -he lay dying, and her life was ruined. It was awfully long, but to Miss -Waters intensely interesting, because she had actually seen the people -with her own eyes.</p> - -<p>A little earlier than usual Rosaleen went home, to find Miss Amy there, -reading, and coldly suspicious.</p> - -<p>“She thinks I’ve met him,” she thought. “Don’t I wish I had!”</p> - -<p>A joyful sense of her own freedom came over her; no one could really -stop her, no one could restrain her. She <i>would</i> see him! All the -suspicious, middle-aged spinsters on earth couldn’t stop her! She was -more subtle, more daring, she was stronger than Miss Amy!<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_96">{96}</a></span></p> - -<p>And yet she passed the evening in dread—terrified that she might hear -the door bell ring, and that it might be Nick.</p> - -<h4>II</h4> - -<p><span class="smcap">It</span> was the custom in their household for Mr. Humbert when he went down -stairs every morning, to look in the mail box, and if there were -anything of interest there, to ring the bell three times, as a signal -for Rosaleen to come running down. If there were nothing but cards from -laundries and carpet cleaners, and so on, he didn’t ring.</p> - -<p>But on the next morning, to the astonishment of Rosaleen, he came back, -up the four flights of stairs again, with the mail in his hand. And -without a word, gave it to his sister. She showed no surprise; it was -evidently prearranged between them.</p> - -<p>Rosaleen stood by, waiting. But Mr. Humbert turned away and the door was -closed after him. And Miss Amy walked off to her own room with the -letters.</p> - -<p>Rosaleen, left alone in the dark passage, clenched her hands. She knew, -she was certain that one of those letters was for her. But dared not -ask. She thought that she might be able to steal it; she waited for a -chance to enter Miss Amy’s room, and there in the waste paper basket she -saw the torn fragments<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_97">{97}</a></span> of an envelope. With her meek air she went about -her work; Miss Amy really fancied that she suspected nothing. But the -moment Miss Amy had gone out to market, she ran into the room and -emptied the waste paper basket on to the floor, and, on her hands and -knees, began to piece the envelope together. It was! Miss Rosaleen -Humbert! But there was not a trace of the letter which must have been in -it.</p> - -<p>A dreadful resentment possessed her. She <i>hated</i> Miss Amy. As she sat -sewing through the interminable evening, her anger almost stifled her. -This woman had cheated and defrauded her. She had stolen her very life! -And she was absolutely at her mercy, absolutely helpless. She couldn’t -even explain to Nick. He would think of course that she had got his -letter; he would see that she didn’t answer it. Perhaps he had suggested -another meeting, perhaps he would go to wait for her somewhere, wait and -wait, in vain....</p> - -<p>That thought made her desperate. She thought for a moment of boldly -confronting Miss Amy, but she very soon relinquished the idea. It -couldn’t do any good, and it might do harm. No! She would have to try -some other way.</p> - -<p>The lamplight shone on her smooth head, bent over her work, her profile -turned to Miss Amy had<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_98">{98}</a></span> the guileless sweetness and carelessness of a -child.... And Miss Amy was consumed with anger—an anger a hundred times -fiercer than Rosaleen’s. She pretended to be reading, but the hands that -held the magazine trembled, and she never turned a page. Rage, scorn, a -hatred which she could not comprehend, filled her at the sight of this -false maiden, this treacherous creature who dared stretch out her hand -after the thing which life had withheld from the older woman. And -suddenly, with shocking coldness, she burst forth:</p> - -<p>“Did you tell that man <i>I</i> was your <i>cousin</i>?”</p> - -<p>Rosaleen looked up, pale with fright. She waited a moment.</p> - -<p>“I said—I only said—a sort of cousin....”</p> - -<p>“You let him think that you—were something that you are <i>not</i>?”</p> - -<p>She was silent.</p> - -<p>“When he came here, did he know your position in this household?”</p> - -<p>“Not exactly....”</p> - -<p>Miss Amy smiled.</p> - -<p>“I thought not. Now, Rosaleen, I want you to listen to me. I knew this -would happen. I warned poor dear Miss Julie of it. I <i>told</i> her that -when you were grown, these—complications were sure to occur. I could -see that you were going to be that sort<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_99">{99}</a></span> of a girl, frivolous and -silly—misled by flattery.” She had to stop for a moment, to choke down -the words on the tip of her tongue, terms of contempt for Rosaleen which -common sense told her had not yet been deserved. Then she went on:</p> - -<p>“I shan’t try to prevent you from seeing—young men. It’s none of my -business. But I won’t have any deceit about it. Anyone who’s interested -in you has a right to know who you are and what you are.”</p> - -<p>With a mighty effort Rosaleen concealed every trace of emotion. She -looked up with an impatient sigh.</p> - -<p>“But, Miss Amy, I can’t be telling all about myself to everyone I meet. -I don’t expect to see him—that man—again. I just didn’t bother.”</p> - -<p>“That’s not true!” said Miss Amy. “I may as well tell you that a letter -came from him this morning, in which he mentioned that you -‘unfortunately had no chance to arrange another meeting.’ Now I want you -to tell me all about this affair.”</p> - -<p>“Nothing to tell!” said Rosaleen, airily. “I met him, and he asked if he -could come to see me, and I said yes. I’m sorry I did it. I never will -again.”</p> - -<p>Miss Amy took up the magazine again. Intolerable to sit in the room with -this girl! She wished she had the courage to send her to the kitchen -where she belonged.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_100">{100}</a></span></p> - -<p>The clock struck nine and Rosaleen got up.</p> - -<p>“I think I’ll go to bed,” she said. “Good-night, Miss Amy!”</p> - -<p>Miss Amy answered without looking up.</p> - -<p>But when Rosaleen had got into bed and turned out the light, she entered -her room without knocking, with that calm authority that at once -intimidated and enraged the young girl. And sat down heavily on the cot, -making it creak.</p> - -<p>“Rosaleen,” she said. “As long as you can’t be trusted to act honourably -of your own accord, I shall have to do so for you. I am going to write -to the young man and tell him your history.”</p> - -<p>Rosaleen gave a little shriek.</p> - -<p>“Oh, no!” she cried. “Oh no! You <i>couldn’t</i> be so cruel and horrible!”</p> - -<p>Miss Amy was a little alarmed at the emotion she had aroused. She -hesitated.</p> - -<p>“Then will you tell him yourself?”</p> - -<p>“Yes!” Rosaleen said. “Yes! I will!”</p> - -<p>Miss Amy sat there, a dim bulk in the darkness.</p> - -<p>“I shall write to him,” she said slowly, “and ask him to come here, and -you can tell him. Tell him what you should have told him in the -beginning.”</p> - -<p>The next morning when Rosaleen was dressed and ready to go out, Miss Amy -handed her a letter.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_101">{101}</a></span></p> - -<p>“You may see it, if you like,” she said.</p> - -<p>But what Rosaleen looked at was the address; one glance stamped it on -her mind.</p> - -<h4>III</h4> - -<p><span class="smcap">When</span> Landry came down to breakfast the next morning there were two -letters lying by his plate. He concealed his great anxiety to open them; -he sat down and asked his aunt how she had passed the night. She made a -point of coming down to take breakfast with him, although it was rather -hard for her to be about so early. But she adored the boy, and his -affectionate politeness more than compensated her.</p> - -<p>She said thank you, she had slept very well.</p> - -<p>“Do you mind?” said Nicholas, picking up his letters.</p> - -<p>“Of cou’se not!” she answered, and he opened the first.</p> - -<p>Miss Amy Humbert would be pleased to see him on Wednesday evening -between eight and nine. The old fashioned formality made him smile, but -it pleased him, it pleased him very much. It was one step nearer to his -Rosaleen. Then he opened the other.</p> - -<p>His aunt noticed that he had stopped eating. He<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_102">{102}</a></span> sat staring at his -plate, lost in thought, frowning. Then he looked up stealthily at her, -and she endured his critical regard with calmness. And he evidently -decided at last that she was to be trusted, for he got up and brought -his two letters to her.</p> - -<p>She read the invitation with a smile; then she looked at the other, -scratched, scrawled on a piece of cheap paper in a stamped envelope.</p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p> -“Dear Mr. Landry:<br /> -</p> - -<p>“Please don’t come on Wednesday. Please don’t <i>ever</i> come. If you -will come to Miss Waters’ studio this afternoon I will explain. But -please do not write, because I do not get the letters.”</p></div> - -<p>And it was signed simply “R.”</p> - -<p>“And I can’t go to Miss Waters’!” he cried. “I can’t possibly ask for an -afternoon off the very first week of this new job!”</p> - -<p>“Who is ‘R’?” asked his aunt, gently.</p> - -<p>“Rosaleen. What do you make of this, Aunt Emmie?”</p> - -<p>“My dearest boy, Ah don’t know anything about it at all, remember! Can’t -you tell me something about her?”</p> - -<p>“I don’t know much about her. But—I’m interested in her. I—I like -her.”</p> - -<p>“But what sort of people are they?<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_103">{103}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“Oh, fairly decent! Respectable, quiet sort of people, as far as I can -see. She’s an orphan—lives with her uncle and cousin. She’s studying -art.”</p> - -<p>All this sounded reassuring to his aunt. The first shock was over, and -she began to feel pity for his trouble. He was so agitated, walking up -and down the room, with his sulky, boyish scowl.</p> - -<p>“Good Lord! What a situation!” he cried. “She asks me not to come and -not to write—and they have no telephone. And she asks me to meet her, -so that she can explain, and I’m not able to go. And she may be in -trouble of some sort. I think it’s very likely.”</p> - -<p>“Shall Ah go there for you this afternoon, and explain?”</p> - -<p>“No!” said Nick. But he stopped short, and braced himself for an -argument. “But I’ll tell you what you <i>can</i> do, Aunt Emmy!<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_104">{104}</a></span>”</p> - -<h3><a id="CHAPTER_SEVEN-a"></a>CHAPTER SEVEN</h3> - -<h4>I</h4> - -<p><span class="smcap">Rosaleen</span> came home from Miss Waters’ that afternoon terribly dispirited. -He hadn’t come!</p> - -<p>The afternoons were growing very short now. The flat was altogether dark -when she let herself in, and she went from room to room, to light the -gas jets and turn them very low. First in the long hall, then in Mr. -Humbert’s room, with its flat top desk covered with papers and its -severe orderliness, then in Miss Amy’s room, where, in the mirror over -the bureau, she caught a glimpse of herself, still in her hat and -jacket, looking oddly blurred and misty in the dim light. Somehow that -image frightened her; she hurried into the dining room, her own little -cell, and at last, with relief, into the kitchen. Never had the rambling -old place seemed so large and so gloomy, or herself so desolate.</p> - -<p>She put on her big apron and set to work preparing the supper, a -shocking meal of fried steak, fried potatoes, coffee, a tin of tomatoes -left unaltered in their watery insipidity, and a flabby little lemon -pie<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_105">{105}</a></span> from the baker’s. She was nervous; she fancied she heard sounds -from all those silent dimly lighted rooms behind her. She started when a -paper bag on the table rattled stiffly all by itself. She was, for once, -glad to hear the sound of a key in the lock and Miss Amy’s heavy tread -coming down the hall.</p> - -<p>She had been to the library; she was carrying four big volumes which she -flung down on the dining room couch. Then she looked into the kitchen.</p> - -<p>“Mmmm! The coffee smells good!” she said, affably, and went off to her -own room. She never offered any assistance, even to setting the table. -She considered all that to be Rosaleen’s affair. Nor did she notice that -the child looked tired and pale and dejected.</p> - -<p>Nor did she notice that Rosaleen ate almost nothing. They had, all three -of them, very small appetites, which, when added to their highly -unappetizing meals, made life very economical. Moreover, she considered -it meritorious to eat very little, and not to enjoy what you did eat.</p> - -<p>They finished. Mr. Humbert rose, said, very pleasantly, “Ah...!” and -went off to his writing. Miss Amy sat down on the couch to look over her -library books, and Rosaleen, putting on her apron again, began carrying -out the dishes. She was slow that evening; she didn’t want to finish.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_106">{106}</a></span></p> - -<p>“If I only had a place where I could go and sit by myself!” she thought, -not for the first time. “I don’t want to go and sit there with <i>her</i>! -And if I go in my own room, she’ll be after me, to see what’s the -matter.”</p> - -<p>She sat down in the kitchen and began to polish a copper tea kettle -which was never used.</p> - -<p>Suddenly the door bell rang. She jumped up, pressed the button which -opened the down stairs door, and hurried along the passage. But Miss Amy -was before her, and stood squarely in the doorway.</p> - -<p>In a dream, a nightmare, Rosaleen heard Nick’s voice:</p> - -<p>“Miss Humbert?” he asked, politely.</p> - -<p>“<i>I</i> am Miss Humbert!”</p> - -<p>“May we see Miss Rosaleen Humbert?”</p> - -<p>“There’s no such person,” said Miss Amy.</p> - -<p>There was a pause. Then another voice, a feminine one, soft, agreeable, -but unmistakably rebuking, said,</p> - -<p>“Ah am Mrs. Allanby, Mr. Landry’s aunt.”</p> - -<p>“Ah!” said Miss Amy.</p> - -<p>“Ma nephew was afraid that perhaps you might not have liked his calling -on your cousin——”</p> - -<p>“Rosaleen is not my cousin,” said Miss Amy, contemptuously.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Allanby was just beginning to speak, when<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_107">{107}</a></span> Nick broke in. He -couldn’t keep his temper any longer. The spectacle of his beloved and -dignified aunt standing outside the door, and being spoken to so -outrageously by this woman both shocked and infuriated him.</p> - -<p>“Will you kindly ask Miss Rosaleen to step here for a minute?” he said. -“We won’t trouble you long!”</p> - -<p>His air of disgust, of superiority, stung the unhappy woman to still -worse behaviour. She <i>could</i> not stop; she took a sort of monstrous -delight in going on, in defying the warnings of her conscience and her -pride.</p> - -<p>“Evidently you don’t understand,” she said. “You seem to think the girl -is a relative. She isn’t. My sister found her posing for a class of art -students, and she felt sorry for her and brought her home. My sister was -very good to her, and for her sake I’ve gone on feeding and clothing -her. She does a little light work round the place, to pay for her -keep....”</p> - -<p>Suddenly all her annoyance, her years of irritation with Rosaleen, her -ill-temper kept under such iron control, all the suffering she had -endured from this false calm, this false pleasantness, this inhuman -repression of her natural self, burst forth.</p> - -<p>“I’m sick and <i>tired</i> of it!” she cried. “Such non<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_108">{108}</a></span>sense! The girl, with -her airs and graces.... Just a common, low Irish girl.... She’s had -advantages I never had in my young days.... I’m sick and tired of it! -It’s the final straw, for her to be asking company here.... I won’t have -it! It’s <i>my</i> home, after all, and there’s no place in it where <i>she</i> -can entertain!”</p> - -<p>They were all silent, aghast at her violence, her coarse cruelty. Her -voice was loud, so loud as to arouse Mr. Humbert from his work. He -thrust his venerable head out of his door, but instantly popped it in -again. Miss Amy, horrified at herself, trembling with rage, ready to -burst into tears, cried out, suddenly——</p> - -<p>“You can just take them into the kitchen!”</p> - -<p>And stood aside, pointing down the passage.</p> - -<p>“Come along, Aunt Emmie!” said Nick. “Come away before I——”</p> - -<p>But she had entered, and was going along the passage. Rosaleen went -before her into the kitchen, drew forward the one chair, and droned -another in from the dining room. Mrs. Allanby, gracious and kind, sat -down, and smiled at Rosaleen.</p> - -<p>“Come and sit down beside me!” she said.</p> - -<p>Rosaleen shook her head. Mrs. Allanby spoke again, she thought she even -heard Nick’s voice, but she couldn’t understand them. They sounded -very,<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_109">{109}</a></span> very faint. She was dizzy, sick, her ears were ringing. She stood -leaning against the tubs, still in her gingham apron, staring at -them——</p> - -<p>At that charming and beautifully dressed woman, at the scowling young -man standing behind her, proud as Lucifer, in the <i>kitchen</i>....</p> - -<p>She flung her arm across her eyes.</p> - -<p>“Go away!” she cried. “Go away!”</p> - -<h4>II</h4> - -<p><span class="smcap">She</span> didn’t really know when they had gone. She stood without moving, -without hearing or seeing for a long time. Then suddenly the turmoil -within her died down and she felt perfectly calm.</p> - -<p>She went into her own room and began packing her clothes into a little -wicker suitcase, quite carefully and neatly. She hadn’t even troubled to -close the door, and inevitably Miss Amy came in.</p> - -<p>“What are you doing?” she asked.</p> - -<p>“I’m going away,” said Rosaleen.</p> - -<p>“What nonsense! At this time of night! I won’t allow it!”</p> - -<p>“You can’t stop me,” said Rosaleen.</p> - -<p>Miss Amy was frightened, unspeakably dismayed at what she had done.</p> - -<p>“Don’t be silly!” she said. “Let bygones be by<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_110">{110}</a></span>gones. I—I’m sorry, -Rosaleen. Let’s forget all about it. Get to bed now, like a good girl!”</p> - -<p>Rosaleen shook her head.</p> - -<p>“No!” she said, “I’ve got to go.”</p> - -<p>“You wicked girl! Think of all we’ve done for you!” said Miss Amy, in -despair.</p> - -<p>“I don’t care,” said Rosaleen.</p> - -<p>“I won’t let you take that suitcase, then. It’s mine.”</p> - -<p>Instantly Rosaleen began taking her things out of it.</p> - -<p>“I’ll wrap them in a newspaper,” she said.</p> - -<p>Miss Amy stood there threatening, entreating, arguing, but Rosaleen was -like a stone. She did wrap her things in a newspaper; then she put on -her hat and coat and went out into the passage. Miss Amy stood with her -back against the front door.</p> - -<p>“I won’t let you!” she cried. “Where would you go—all alone—at this -time of night!”</p> - -<p>A horrible fear had risen in her mind. If Rosaleen “went wrong,” <i>she</i> -would be responsible. She didn’t much care what else happened to her, as -long as <i>that</i> was avoided. But she couldn’t have <i>that</i> on her -conscience.</p> - -<p>“Morton!” she cried, desperately. “Morton! Come out and speak to this -wicked, headstrong girl!<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_111">{111}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>No earthly power could have brought the author into this. He didn’t even -answer. He got up from his desk and slipped across the room, and <i>very</i> -quietly locked the door.</p> - -<p>“I won’t let you out!” cried Miss Amy.</p> - -<p>“I’ll stand here till you do!” said Rosaleen firmly.</p> - -<p class="cdtts">. . . . . . . . . .</p> - -<p class="cdtts">. . . . . . . . . .</p> - -<p class="cdtts">. . . . . . . . . .</p> - -<p>A long time went by. Miss Amy had grown weary beyond endurance. And -there stood Rosaleen, leaning against the wall, with her newspaper -package under her arm, pallid, solemn, unconquerable.</p> - -<p>Suddenly Miss Amy began to cry.</p> - -<p>“Very well, you miserable, heartless girl!” she sobbed. “Go, then, if -you <i>will</i>!”</p> - -<p>Rosaleen went by her, out of the door, and down the stairs. And never -again did Miss Amy set eyes on her in this world.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_113">{113}</a></span><span class="pagenum"><a id="page_112">{112}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a id="BOOK_TWO"></a>BOOK TWO: AMONG THE ARTISTS</h2> - -<h3><a id="CHAPTER_ONE-b"></a>CHAPTER ONE</h3> - -<h4>I</h4> - -<p><span class="smcap">She</span> felt, really and actually, like a new person, and she looked like -one, too. She was walking down Sixth Avenue, after an interview with the -fashion editor of a big magazine who had said that neither now nor at -any possible future time would he use any of her work. It was a sharp -November day, and she was still wearing a thin suit, in the pocket of -which lay a fifty-cent piece, borrowed from Miss Waters, all the money -she had in the world. And still she was happy, profoundly happy. She -walked briskly, staring candidly at whatever interested her, no longer -trying to be ladylike, and feeling herself for the first time in her -life an independent personality, not obliged to please anyone. And she -was going home to a place where she was welcome, where she was -encouraged and admired—in short, to Miss Waters’ flat.</p> - -<p>Miss Waters had taken her in on that terrible<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_114">{114}</a></span> evening without asking -for a word of explanation. She had simply kissed her and suggested going -to bed, and when Rosaleen was lying beside her in the dark, both of them -fiercely wide awake, she said not a word, never put a question. The next -morning she had got up early and made coffee and toast and brought it to -Rosaleen as she lay in bed. At last she had heard the story and she was -horrified. She quite agreed that Rosaleen had done well to leave Miss -Amy, but being old and more cruelly schooled in the world’s ways, she -had seen how much the girl was losing. A home, a roof over one’s head, -and food and clothing—she knew the cost of these in money and in -effort. She had gone, on her own initiative, to see Miss Amy, to see if -she could not rescue something for her lamb. She never mentioned that -interview to Rosaleen, and she had tried to forget it as soon as -possible. It was a humiliating and complete failure; the European Art -Teacher had had very much the worst of it.</p> - -<p>She had then devoted herself to heartening this dejected and sorrowful -young creature, and with amazing results. Rosaleen was now convinced -that the world lay before her, to be conquered by her brush. Freedom -from criticism and hostility transformed her. Miss Waters suggested -various places where she might look for “art work,” and she went<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_115">{115}</a></span> to -them without timidity, was never discouraged by refusals. She knew that -Miss Waters was glad to have her there as long as she wished to stay, -and whatever expense she caused she expected to repay before long. -Cheerful and pleasant days, these were. When she wasn’t out hunting -jobs, she was with Miss Waters, drawing or helping her in her very -easy-going and muddled housekeeping. In the evening they had dinner at -little Italian table d’hôtes, they went to “movies,” or they worked at -home together. Rosaleen made dress designs to show as samples of her -ability, things so spirited and attractive that Miss Waters was -surprised.</p> - -<p>“I never knew you were so gifted, my dear,” she said. “I knew—I -<i>always</i> knew you had talent, but I didn’t know you were so -<i>practical</i>.”</p> - -<p>There was something else that surprised Miss Waters. She couldn’t -comprehend how Rosaleen could be so cheerful, after what had happened. -But the part of Rosaleen’s brain which was concerned with Nick Landry -was shut, was sealed. She was dimly aware that some day she would have -to open that door, and examine and comprehend what lay behind it. She -knew that Grief was shut in there, and frightful Disappointment. Knew -too that through that locked compartment lay the way to<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_116">{116}</a></span> her heaven. But -she turned aside her head. She went another road.</p> - -<p>Cheerful and lively, her cheeks rosy with the winter air, she hurried -through the twilit street, up the steps of Miss Waters’ old-fashioned -house, and rang the bell. She waited a long time for an answer: she rang -again, and still must wait. The flat was on the first floor; standing on -the stoop she tried to peer in at the front window, but, unaccountably, -the shade was pulled down. She rang once more, almost without hope, sure -that Miss Waters must have gone out for a few moments; but this time the -door clicked violently, and she entered. Miss Waters was standing at her -own front door; she was dressed in a black lace tea gown, with a black -jet butterfly in her fluffy white hair; she looked strangely elegant and -exalted. And in a voice trembling with excitement, she seized Rosaleen’s -hands.</p> - -<p>“Many happy returns of the day!” she cried.</p> - -<p>“Oh! It was sweet of you to remember it was my birthday!” said Rosaleen, -touched almost to tears by the festive dress.</p> - -<p>Miss Waters gently pulled her inside the door.</p> - -<p>“Now!” she said.</p> - -<p>And if she hadn’t a surprise party for Rosaleen!</p> - -<p>The shades were all down, the curtains drawn, and candles lighted in the -dusty, untidy little sit<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_117">{117}</a></span>ting room, and it had somehow a mysterious and -fascinating atmosphere. It seemed quite crowded with people too, and -when she entered they all came forward. There was only one whom she knew -at all; Miss Mell, a stout girl in spectacles, who had been Miss Waters’ -first pupil, years ago. She came with commendable regularity to visit -her old teacher every two or three weeks, and Rosaleen had more than -once seen her in the studio, sitting quite still and listening to Miss -Waters’ talking, a kindly and amused smile on her face. Then there was a -desperately lively girl who ran a tea room, and two agreeable young -English women, and a disagreeable, sneering old gentleman with a goatee, -whose name she never learned, nor whose business there. And an arrogant, -handsome girl with a violin, who played something for them.</p> - -<p>Assisted by Miss Mell, Miss Waters served them all with cake and wine -and sandwiches, and then brought forth cigarettes, for the conversation -which she expected to enjoy.</p> - -<p>“They’re all people who <i>do</i> things!” she whispered to Rosaleen.</p> - -<p>They all conscientiously endeavoured to behave like a party of artists, -to smoke and to talk about “interesting” things. And they created a very -fair illusion. At any rate, it made Miss Waters happy.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_118">{118}</a></span></p> - -<p>Miss Mell was very friendly, so friendly that Rosaleen couldn’t help -thinking Miss Waters must have told her her history.</p> - -<p>“We’re just setting up as artists,” she said, sitting down beside -Rosaleen. (They were the only ones not smoking.) “We’ve taken a studio -on the south side of the Square, Bainbridge and I. We’re moving in -to-morrow. And we want someone else to go in with us, to share a third -of the expense. It’ll amount to about twenty dollars a month, a third of -the rent, and the gas and telephone, and so on. And I wondered if you’d -like to come in with us?”</p> - -<p>“I should!” said Rosaleen. “But I couldn’t. I couldn’t afford it. I -haven’t got on my feet yet.”</p> - -<p>“We intend to work, you know. Hard! And I might be able to help you. -Fashions, isn’t it? I know a lot of the people—editors and so on. I -wish you would!”</p> - -<p>“But—I haven’t a cent!” said Rosaleen. “Nothing at all. If I can find a -job——”</p> - -<p>“In an office? It’s a pity to do that, if your work’s any good. You have -no time left for anything else, and you can’t get ahead. If you work -hard, and once get a decent start, you can do far better as a free -lance.”</p> - -<p>“I know it!” said Rosaleen. “But you’ve got to<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_119">{119}</a></span> be able to live while -you’re <i>getting</i> a start, and I——”</p> - -<p>But the handsome and arrogant young woman had begun to play her violin -again, and everyone became silent. It was music which had little to say -to Rosaleen; it was austere brain music; but she was enchanted to watch -the musician, the exquisite movement of her right arm and wrist, the -delicate interplay of the fingers of her left hand, the faint, fleeting -shadows that crossed her proud, fine face. She was, Rosaleen thought, -very like a picture Miss Amy had of Marie Antoinette riding in the -tumbrill.</p> - -<p>The piece was ended, and they all applauded.</p> - -<p>“That’s Bainbridge,” Miss Mell explained. “My pal, the one who has the -studio with me. She’s absolutely a genius.”</p> - -<p>Rosaleen regarded her with undisguised admiration.</p> - -<p>“I wish I could come with you!” she said, regretfully.</p> - -<h4>II</h4> - -<p><span class="smcap">Miss Mell</span> and Miss Bainbridge were in that state of exhaustion in which -any sort of rest or pause is fatal. They had agreed to go on working -until they were really “settled,” with everything unpacked<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_120">{120}</a></span> and neat. -Enthusiasm had entirely gone now; they were working doggedly, and, -secretly, without much hope of ever being done. Miss Bainbridge was on -her knees before a packing case filled with papers, drawings, music, and -that mass of letters, bills, and receipts one feels obliged to keep. -Miss Mell was feebly cleaning out the hearth, which was quite full of -the debris of the former tenants.</p> - -<p>There was a knock at the door, and they both called out, “Come in!” but -without interest.</p> - -<p>It was Miss Waters and Rosaleen. Miss Waters beckoned mysteriously to -Miss Mell, and they vanished into the back room.</p> - -<p>“Have you got your third person for the studio yet?” Miss Waters -enquired, anxiously.</p> - -<p>Miss Mell shook her head.</p> - -<p>“Then you can have Rosaleen!” cried Miss Waters, with triumph. “I’m so -glad, for your sake, and for her sake. It’s an <i>ideal</i> arrangement!”</p> - -<p>And, seeing that Miss Mell looked only polite and not enthusiastic, she -went on:</p> - -<p>“You will just love that child! She has the disposition of an angel. -Never a cross or disagreeable word. And after all she’s been through!”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said Miss Mell. “She seems very nice. We’ll be glad to have her.”</p> - -<p>“You see,” Miss Waters went on, in a whisper.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_121">{121}</a></span> “Yesterday, not an hour -after you’d left the house, a letter came for her from that beastly -woman I told you about—that Amy Humbert. And in it, my dear, was a -cheque for <i>five hundred</i> dollars. It seems that the <i>nice</i> sister had -told her on her deathbed to give that to Rosaleen when she was -twenty-one. She wrote—this Amy woman, I mean—that she wasn’t legally -obliged to give it to Rosaleen, but that she felt it was a moral -obligation, and that she always tried to do what was right, and more -like that. <i>You</i> know the sort of person, Dodo! Well!... The poor child -was wild with joy.... And I advised her to come with you, if it could be -done. Five hundred dollars will keep her for a long time, if she’s -careful, and she ought to be earning a good living long before it’s -gone. Don’t you think so?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, I should think so,” said Miss Mell, thoughtfully.</p> - -<p>“Then I’ll tell her!” said Miss Waters, and hastened into the big room, -where Rosaleen stood, looking sheepishly about her. Miss Bainbridge had -discouraged her attempts at conversation with no great gentleness and -the chairs were all filled with things, so that she couldn’t even sit -down.</p> - -<p>“It’s all right!” cried Miss Waters. “I <i>am</i> so glad!<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_122">{122}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“Look round and see how you like it,” said Miss Mell, and they did.</p> - -<p>The place seemed to them the very ideal of a studio. It was a dark old -room on the south side of the Square, thoroughly dirty and almost past -cleaning. There were plenty of mice and other more intolerable vermin, -and a musty smell that no airing could banish. But, to compensate, more -than to compensate, was the View, the Outlook, the sight of scrawny -little Washington Square Park and a glimpse up Fifth Avenue through the -Arch. Every visitor they ever had later on admired this view.</p> - -<p>It had just the right sort of furnishings, too, left intact by the two -former girl artists who were subletting it. Big wicker chairs and little -feeble tables, a rug, small, dingy and expensive, a screen, a battered -and stained drawing table, candles with “quaint” shades striped purple -and yellow. And pieces of hammered brass which should have gleamed from -corners but which did not gleam because they were too dirty and the -corners were so very dark that nothing within them was visible. The -place had altogether an aimless air, a look of being one part work room -and three parts play room; it was frivolous in a solemn, pretentious -sort of way, neither pretty nor convenient.</p> - -<p>But to Rosaleen an enchanted spot, something<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_123">{123}</a></span> which seemed to her more -like home, dearer to her than any other place in the world. She loved -it!</p> - -<p>“I’d like to help,” she said. “What shall I do first?”</p> - -<p>“The back room,” said Enid. “Otherwise we’ll never get to bed to-night.”</p> - -<p>Rosaleen lifted the curtain and went into the back room where they were -all to sleep and to do their cooking. A forlorn place, overrun with -roaches, and containing two cots, a filthy gas stove, an old sink red -with rust, and a dreadful mouldy little thing that had once been an -ice-box. There was no window, no light except the gas high overhead. It -was depressing, hideous, highly unwholesome, with an air of abandoned -domesticity terribly distressing to Rosaleen. She couldn’t endure the -thought of food being prepared and cooked in that dark and dirty place. -But the others didn’t care at all.</p> - -<p>They had got themselves some sort of lunch there before Rosaleen’s -arrival; the greasy plates still stood by the sink.</p> - -<p>“I’ll make you some tea,” she said, pitying their grimy and -back-breaking labour.</p> - -<p>She scrubbed out a rusty little kettle and set it on to boil; then she -began to wash the dishes and to clean the cluttered, dusty shelf and to -set out on it<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_124">{124}</a></span> the provisions lying about in bags and boxes. She opened -the little ice-box, devoid of ice and smelling most vilely, and saw in -there a loaf of bread and an opened tin of milk.</p> - -<p>“I wouldn’t <i>use</i> that ice-box if I were you!” she called out, -anxiously. “It doesn’t seem—nice.”</p> - -<p>“All right!” Miss Mell answered, soothingly.</p> - -<p>She made tea and brought it in on the lid of a box for a tray. But it -was very poor, cheap tea and it smelt like straw.</p> - -<p>“I don’t think it’s a very good brand,” said Rosaleen. “Why don’t you -try Noxey’s?”</p> - -<p>Miss Bainbridge looked up from her third cup.</p> - -<p>“Look here!” she said. “My idea is that you should do all that sort of -thing. We can’t and won’t. Mell, give her the money and let her buy -everything.... And you’ll see we always have everything we need, won’t -you? Things for breakfast, and so on? Dinner I suppose we’ll take -outside. I will, anyway. You’d better go out now, I think. First look -and see what we need, coffee, rolls, all the proper things. And wood: it -would be nice to start a fire here this evening. We didn’t know where to -get any.”</p> - -<p>Rosaleen went, but she was not too well pleased with the tone of her new -companion. And still less did she like her contemptuous indifference to -Miss<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_125">{125}</a></span> Waters, when she popped in later on to see if she could help. She -was by nature resigned and patient, and her training had accentuated -this; on her own behalf she would have endured a great deal from Miss -Bainbridge. But she had a loyalty for her friends that was fanatical. -Her heart had ached for her poor old friend, with her well-meaning -sprightliness quashed. When she had gone, when she had called a -quavering and gay “Au revoir!” from the foot of the stairs, Rosaleen had -turned and resolutely faced the arrogant Miss Bainbridge.</p> - -<p>“I——” she began. “I’ll ask you please—not to talk like that to Miss -Waters.”</p> - -<p>Her mouth was set grimly; she looked at that moment rather like her -mother.</p> - -<p>“Why?” asked Miss Bainbridge, coolly.</p> - -<p>“She’s—she’s old, for one thing.”</p> - -<p>“Old enough to die. No, Miss-What’s-Your-Name, I can’t be sentimental -about your rather awful old friend. And we don’t want her bothering us -here. The sooner she finds it out, the better. If you won’t give her a -hint, I will.”</p> - -<p>“No,” said Rosaleen, “I won’t.... And I won’t let you.”</p> - -<p>“What!” cried Miss Bainbridge. “You won’t let me? Is that what you said? -How do you propose to stop me?<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_126">{126}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“Well,” said Rosaleen. “I—I suppose I <i>can’t</i> stop you. But I can go -away and not hear you. And I will.”</p> - -<p>“Good-bye!” said Miss Bainbridge.</p> - -<p>Miss Mell intervened.</p> - -<p>“See here, Enid, my child, this won’t do! You mustn’t offend Rosaleen. -Don’t be too much of a genius!”</p> - -<p>“There’s no reason for her to be offended. She’s not personally -responsible for Miss Waters. I’ve simply put my foot down about the old -imbecile——”</p> - -<p>“<i>But</i> the studio belongs to all three of us,” said Miss Mell. “And -Rosaleen and I want Miss Waters. It’s two against one.”</p> - -<p>Miss Bainbridge had got up and was looking at them with an ugly, -narrowed glance. But Miss Mell continued her unpacking, and Rosaleen, -instead of quailing, met her look quite calmly. She couldn’t do much -with <i>them</i>....</p> - -<p>She made a real effort to control that unbridled temper, to subdue that -fierce pride that could endure no slightest contradiction. She saw, as -she could always see, where her own best interest lay; that if she -wished to get on with these comrades, she must make concessions.</p> - -<p>“Very well,” she said. “Have her, if you want.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_127">{127}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>Rosaleen was not to be outdone in magnanimity.</p> - -<p>“I don’t want you to be bothered,” she said. “I’ll try to keep her from -interrupting your work the least bit. It’s only—if you please won’t be -rude to her.... Because she’s really very nice.”</p> - -<p>“But can’t you <i>see</i>!” cried Miss Bainbridge, with a sort of despair. -“I’m not like you. If I’m surrounded by mushy, stupid, jabbering people, -it—harms me! If I were kind to people like that, I’d ruin myself. You -hear about people being killed with kindness. Well, a great many more -people are killed—or destroyed—by <i>being</i> kind. No one who amounts to -anything can be so damn <i>kind</i>. It’s often necessary to be cruel; and -it’s <i>always</i> necessary to be indifferent. My job is to paint—to the -very best of my ability. It doesn’t matter how Miss Waters feels. The -world isn’t going to be any better or any worse for <i>her</i> feelings.”</p> - -<p>Rosaleen reflected for some time. Then she spoke, thoughtfully and -firmly:</p> - -<p>“I guess Art isn’t as important as all that!” she said.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_128">{128}</a></span></p> - -<h3><a id="CHAPTER_TWO-b"></a>CHAPTER TWO</h3> - -<h4>I</h4> - -<p><span class="smcap">The</span> next afternoon they were all settled peacefully at work. They had -agreed to give up the idea of getting all in order first; they had -decided that they would do a little every day.</p> - -<p>Miss Mell was at work on an oil painting representing a white tiled -bathroom in which sat a heavenly fair young mother undressing a baby on -her lap, while near her were playing two misty, wistful little children -in bathgowns. In the air, over their heads, was a huge tin of talcum -powder, and beneath the picture were the words—“<small>THAT COM’FY, SILKY, -CUDDLY FEELING WHICH ONLY FEATHERBLO POWDER CAN GIVE.</small>”</p> - -<p>It was an order; she had enough commissions ahead to keep her busy for -months. She made it her business to suit her clients and their public; -if she had any tastes of her own, she set them aside. She had good sense -and shrewdness and no illusions of her own greatness. She wished to earn -a living by drawing, because she was fond of it and did it<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_129">{129}</a></span> fairly well. -She never used the word “Art,” never expressed an aesthetic opinion. The -advertising agency for which she did most of her work considered her in -all things perfect and especially created to fill their wants.</p> - -<p>Miss Bainbridge was stippling the background of a little pen and ink -sketch—a bizarre thing which she was going to try on a brand new art -magazine. It was a woman, nude except for an immense black cloak -sprinkled with white stars which floated from her shoulders. She stood -alone on an immense stage with a background of black dots; and before -and below her was a swimming sea of eyes. She called it “Failure.”</p> - -<p>Rosaleen too was working, but neither contentedly nor successfully. The -more she saw of the others, the less she thought of herself. They worked -with such industry, hour after hour. They didn’t seem to have the -slightest trace of her fatal desire for distraction. After she had been -drawing for an hour or so, she always became intolerably restless, so -that even washing dishes was a relief.... By the side of Enid Bainbridge -she felt as some poor little clergyman, struggling incessantly to feed -and clothe his family, sick with cares and worries of this world, might -feel by the side of Saint Paul. Enid worshipped her god with a single -heart. Not for<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_130">{130}</a></span> money, not for praise, not for any conceivable reward, -would she do anything but her best. Even her ruthlessness, her -selfishness, had in them something sublime. She was the priestess, -sacrificing all things on her altar. Rosaleen, while disagreeing with -her as to the relative importance of art in life, nevertheless venerated -her devotion.</p> - -<p>She wanted very much to ask their opinion of the design she had just -made, but she didn’t venture to interrupt them. She regarded them -covertly; Miss Mell in her gingham apron, with her calm, bespectacled -face cheerfully intent on her painting; Enid Bainbridge bending over her -drawing with desperate intensity.... She had beautiful hair, Rosaleen -observed, and she knew how to dress it.</p> - -<p>She got up and crossed the room, very quietly, so as not to shake the -floor, and sat down before the hearth to bait a mouse-trap. The place -was overrun with mice; they had disturbed her horribly the night before.</p> - -<p>And suddenly the industrious silence was broken by a tremendous knock at -the door.</p> - -<p>“<i>Come</i> in!” called Miss Mell, in her cheerful, encouraging voice.</p> - -<p>The door opened, so widely that it slammed against the wall, and in -walked an enormously fat man, with a swarthy face, an upturned mustache<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_131">{131}</a></span> -and a monocle dangling by a broad black ribbon. He was dressed with -extreme care, with well-creased trousers, a fastidious necktie, and -fawn-coloured spats; but the greater part of him was enveloped in a -flowing grey linen smock.</p> - -<p>They all stared at him, astonished; he was so extraordinary. He stared -at them.</p> - -<p>“I heard,” he said, “that there were three little female artists up -here, and I came in to look them over, to see if they were pretty and -interesting, or not. I live downstairs, my children, and my name is -Lawrence Iverson.”</p> - -<p>“I’ve seen some of your work,” said Enid, carelessly. “In the Kremoth -Galleries. Rather good.”</p> - -<p>He looked critically at Enid, but she met his glance with one quite as -cool and appraising.</p> - -<p>“Who are <i>you</i>?” he asked. “To call my work ‘rather good’?”</p> - -<p>“No one much, <i>just yet</i>,” she answered.</p> - -<p>He crossed the room and fixing his monocle, examined her work.</p> - -<p>“Not even ‘rather good,’<span class="lftspc">”</span> he said. “Clever—cheaply clever. Trick -stuff—all in one dimension. Worthless.”</p> - -<p>“No, it isn’t,” she contradicted. “It’s what I mean it to be, anyway. It -expresses what I want it to. Now, a thing like that ‘Idols’ you did is -what I<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_132">{132}</a></span> call a failure. You had something you wanted to express, and you -didn’t. It didn’t mean anything.”</p> - -<p>“My God! Young woman, I never mean anything.... But you’re the perfect -school marm ‘doing art.’ You’re concerned with ideas, because you have a -brain, a little tiny one, but no soul. You don’t know what beauty is. -What, you girl, does a tree <i>mean</i>? What does a lovely arm <i>mean</i>? I -give my pictures names because people won’t buy them without names. But -the names are all damn nonsense, just to make the fools talk. For -instance, I will conceive a group, of perfect, heart-breaking harmony, -three figures in attitudes which form a complete and exquisite -design.... You see that sort of thing once in a while, without -forethought. I saw, the other day, a woman bending down from the top of -a flight of steps to take a bag a grocer’s boy was reaching up to her. -They made the most beautiful combination of curves God ever allowed.... -<i>You’re</i> not bad looking....”</p> - -<p>Enid paid no attention to this compliment. She frowned.</p> - -<p>“You’re wrong,” she said, after a while. “I’m not that sort—the school -marm.... But you <i>did</i> have an idea in that picture of yours. I think -you wanted it to be ironic and terrible. And it wasn’t.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_133">{133}</a></span> It was only -severe. You missed what you aimed at. But I <i>don’t</i> care about -ideas....”</p> - -<p>“Keep quiet, sensitive, egotistic, female thing!” said Lawrence Iverson. -“Why do you care what I think about you? I don’t care—I couldn’t -possibly care—what you thought about me. Now to show you—what mood are -you trying to get in your little picture there? Explain it! If it means -something, what does it mean? Eh?”</p> - -<p>“It’s the sensation of an actress who knows she’s failing——”</p> - -<p>“Oh bosh! Oh rot! Oh stale, idiotic futility! So we have here the -portrait of a sensation! Well, here is what you want.”</p> - -<p>He took Enid by the arm and pulled her to her feet; then he sat down on -her chair and began to draw with her pen, in strong, fine, sure lines, -the figure of a woman, in a strange attitude, half defiant, half -cringing.</p> - -<p>“There’s your silly idea,” he said. “Without any black dots or white -stripes.... You can’t draw. No woman can. But it’s pretty to see them -try. I approve. I approve of you all. Even the trying will give you some -faint comprehension of what I accomplish. But now, my dear little souls, -put down your work and let us become acquainted!<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_134">{134}</a></span>”</p> - -<h4>II</h4> - -<p>“Wasn’t he awful?” said Rosaleen, with a sigh of relief, when he had -gone.</p> - -<p>“Oh, I don’t know!” said Miss Mell. “That’s only his way. He’s really a -very well known artist.... What are you laughing at, Enid?”</p> - -<p>“At him,” she answered. “And his babyishness. And his airs. Why, he’s -crazy about women. You can see <i>that</i>. I’ll have him eating out of my -hand in a week or two.”</p> - -<h4>III</h4> - -<p><span class="smcap">But</span> the next morning when Miss Mell opened the door to put a bundle of -rubbish out into the hall she found there a neat little package, and in -it a sketch of Rosaleen standing with the mouse-trap in her hand, -startled and puzzled.</p> - -<p>“To you!” he had written. “Because you look just as a little female -artist ought to look. All soul. Of course, you haven’t any soul. But I -will help you to play being an artist, because of your lovely soulful -artist eyes.”</p> - -<p>“Hum!” said Enid. “She’d better not have that. It won’t do to let her -get conceited. She’s too useful.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_135">{135}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>And she tore it into pieces and threw it into the fire.</p> - -<p>“My dear!” cried Miss Mell. “I don’t think that was right!”</p> - -<p>“Rot!” said Enid. “He’s simply trying to show that he’s not attracted by -me. Can’t you see?”</p> - -<p>“What I can’t see,” said Miss Mell, thoughtfully. “<i>Is</i>—which is the -most unbearably conceited—you or Lawrence Iverson?”</p> - -<p>“He is,” said Enid, “because he’s older. It gets worse, always.”</p> - -<p>He came up again that afternoon; and, though they hadn’t spoken of it, -they were all three quite sure that he would come, and were waiting for -him.</p> - -<p>He went over to Miss Mell.</p> - -<p>“Your work,” he said, “is entirely hopeless. And you don’t care. You’re -really the cleverest of the lot. You know what you’re doing. You’re -earning a living.... But I can’t look at it. It’s too obscene.”</p> - -<p>She smiled good-humouredly, without looking up from the picture of a -small boy and a big package of coffee “For My Mudder.”</p> - -<p>“And you,” he said to Enid. “You’re so infernally puffed up with pride -in your work and your fine body that you can’t see the truth. Nothing -but<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_136">{136}</a></span> crazy visions. What you ought to be is an artist’s model. That is -what you were intended for.”</p> - -<p>“That’s a part that wouldn’t suit you very well,” she answered, looking -at his great, ungainly bulk.</p> - -<p>“Cheap!” he said. “Cheap wit. Cheap impudence. My skeleton is largely -covered with fat, which is a source of great discomfort to me. And it -seems humourous to you. Very well; that is Enid. Now this sweet child, -Rosaleen, is promising. She is innocent, naïve. She sees what is, -because she is rather too stupid to imagine what is not. I am going to -teach her.”</p> - -<p>“To see what is not, I suppose,” said Enid. “Go ahead, then. Of course -you’ll spoil her. She was useful before. She used to cook the meals and -go to market and sweep and mend our clothes. Now she’ll want to <i>draw</i>.”</p> - -<p>“So she shall draw! She shall be my Galatea. I shall create an artist -with my own breath.”</p> - -<p>He sat down beside the alarmed and confused Rosaleen and began to -instruct her. He was wonderful. He explained with exquisite lucidity; he -was patient, he was kind. But Rosaleen was too nervous to profit by his -teaching. Her hand trembled pitiably.</p> - -<p>“Very well, then, my dear,” he said, kindly, “I’ll wait until you’re -more used to me. But in the mean<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_137">{137}</a></span>time, don’t touch a pencil. Every -stroke you draw is a step on the road to perdition.”</p> - -<p>He patted her shoulder and left her, and began walking up and down the -room.</p> - -<p>“Don’t!” said Enid, impatiently. “It shakes the floor.... Sit down and -smoke.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t smoke.”</p> - -<p>“Why don’t you work?”</p> - -<p>“Still the school marm. You imagine you can ‘be an artist’ by sitting -over your work all your life. You haven’t the wit to see that art is the -outcome of experience——”</p> - -<p>“No, it isn’t. Unless it’s your ancestors’ experience. It comes with you -when you’re born. Art is the result of impressions——”</p> - -<p>“And how do you get impressions, woman, except through experience?”</p> - -<p>“Some people can get a vivid impression by looking at a blank wall. It’s -inside, not outside. What you call experience is nothing but -distractions, interruptions....”</p> - -<p>“Young woman, what <i>I</i> call experience <i>is</i> experience. I’m not a timid -female thing.”</p> - -<p>Then he began to boast—of how he had lived, how he had felt, what he -had seen. He swaggered amazingly, pacing up and down the room, stroking -his little black mustache, continually fixing his<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_138">{138}</a></span> monocle with a -tremendous grimace. Rosaleen was lost in bewilderment. She couldn’t for -the life of her tell whether he was joking or serious, whether his talk -was brilliant or idiotic. She could get no clue from Miss Mell, for she -was still working and apparently paying no heed. Enid’s face had its -usual fierce and scornful look, her voice its usual impatient vigour. -She longed to have this man interpreted.</p> - -<p>She waited until Enid had gone out to the theatre that evening, and -then, when she and Miss Mell were alone together in their candle-lighted -studio, with a fire burning and a great air of peace and comfort, she -said:</p> - -<p>“Isn’t that Mr. Iverson—queer?”</p> - -<p>“Not so queer as he pretends to be,” she answered, which gave Rosaleen -very little help.</p> - -<p>“Don’t you think he’s—sort of like Enid?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, mercy, no!” cried Miss Mell. “What makes you think that, Rosaleen?”</p> - -<p>Rosaleen couldn’t quite explain.</p> - -<p>“They’re both so—they’re such—they talk——”</p> - -<p>“They’re both very rude, if that’s what you mean. But Enid’s rude -because she’s so honest, and Iverson’s rude as a pose. He’s a famous -poseur.”</p> - -<p>That was Greek to Rosaleen. Miss Mell saw her puzzled frown and -expatiated.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_139">{139}</a></span></p> - -<p>“I’ve met him before,” she said. “He doesn’t remember me, though. I’ve -seen him two or three times. And I’ve heard a great deal about him. He’s -a remarkable man—in some ways. But a poseur.... He affects that -bluntness, but he’s not sincere.... I don’t think anyone could be less -like Enid. To begin with, he hasn’t any self-control. They say he has -the most terrific temper. He quarrels with everyone. And he’s perfectly -reckless; he doesn’t care what he does. I’ve heard the most -extraordinary stories about him. He’s like a madman. And yet very -greedy. He runs after people with money. While Enid—but you must know -Enid a little by this time. She’s never reckless. She always knows what -she’s doing, and she’d rather cut her heart out than do anything to -injure her career. And as for toadying, she <i>couldn’t</i>. She cares no -more for money than a baby.”</p> - -<p>“You think a lot of Enid, don’t you?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, I do!” said Miss Mell.</p> - -<p>There was a pause.</p> - -<p>“Well—do you like—him?” asked Rosaleen.</p> - -<p>“No,” said Miss Mell. “Not much. And don’t you, either!”</p> - -<p>But Rosaleen couldn’t help liking him!</p> - -<p>He didn’t come up the next afternoon. Rosaleen, going out on an errand, -had of course to pass the<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_140">{140}</a></span> door of his studio on the floor below, and -from within she heard a most pleasant sound of feminine voices, gay, -light, well-bred voices. On her way in again, she had paused for just a -moment outside that door, and the hidden festivity was still going on; -she heard the clink of silver on china, and those nice voices again. -Later on, from the window upstairs, she saw a motor car glide up to the -door in the dusk and stand there waiting, until finally two exquisitely -dressed women came out and entered it, escorted gallantly by Lawrence -Iverson. They drove off, leaving him standing bare-headed in the street.</p> - -<h4>IV</h4> - -<p><span class="smcap">Miss Waters</span> had become terribly excited when Rosaleen told her.</p> - -<p>“My <i>dear</i>! Not <i>Lawrence Iverson</i>! Right in the same <i>house</i>! Isn’t -that marvellous! Now tell me all about him!”</p> - -<p>Rosaleen tried, but not very successfully.</p> - -<p>“But come and see him for yourself,” she said. “He’s sure to come in -again some afternoon soon.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, no!” said Miss Waters, hastily. “I don’t think I will, dear. It -would make me too nervous.”</p> - -<p>After that she wasn’t seen so often at the studio. She would dart in -during the morning, perhaps<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_141">{141}</a></span> leaving a pupil at her home, and chat with -Rosaleen for a little while, but always on edge, ready to flit away. It -made her very happy to observe the happiness of her favourite. And she -alone was able to comprehend the things that made up that happiness. She -could understand the joy that seized Rosaleen whenever she had been out -on a frosty morning, when she crossed the snow-covered Square and -entered the room with its crackling fire and saw the two girls working -in absolute quiet. She loved even the careless and shiftless -housekeeping, the things brought in from the delicatessen, salads in -paper boats, cold sliced meats, buns, rolls, cakes. They rarely cooked -anything; they went out every night to dinner, either to an Italian -table d’hote or to the tea room in the basement; when Enid wasn’t with -them, they always asked Miss Waters, and frequently the two English -girls who had a dressmaking establishment near by would join them. They -were nice, jolly, sophisticated girls and Rosaleen liked them. She used -to go now and then to their place, which they call “<span class="smcap">Fine Feathers</span>,” and -they would give her “pointers” about making her own clothes.</p> - -<p>The tea room in the basement was kept by the desperately lively girl who -had been at the birthday party; she was from the Middle West, and she -was<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_142">{142}</a></span> blessed with the name of Esther Gosorkus. She had enormous, babyish -blue eyes and oily brown hair always done with a wide fillet of blue -ribbon. She was enthusiastic and friendly and agreeable beyond belief; -she adored everyone. Yet she was able to charge hair-raising prices for -her food, and for the Antiques which she also sold down there. Enid -always called her The Fool.</p> - -<p>“She can’t be a fool,” said Miss Mell. “She’s making pots of money.”</p> - -<p>“Plenty of fools can do that,” said Enid. “Set a fool to catch a fool! -Of course! They prey on one another.”</p> - -<p>Miss Gosorkus’ connection with Art was vague; still she wore smocks and -went to studio parties; she talked about the Artists’ Colony, and -considered that she belonged to it. She used to come up to the studio -rather often, and had to talk to Rosaleen, because the other two gave -her no encouragement. But Rosaleen thought her jolly and rather nice, -and when she went out marketing, used to stop in at the Tea Room and -Antique Shop and buy sandwiches for lunch, or if there were something -palatable in course of preparation, she would buy three portions and -bring them upstairs to her friends. Not very often, though; for she was -fastidious about food, and Miss Gosorkus’ methods seemed to her more<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_143">{143}</a></span> -than questionable at times. She had to see it all done by Miss Gosorkus -and the coloured cook before she would buy.</p> - -<p>The mornings generally fled by in work of this unartistic nature, in -marketing, in making up the cots, washing the dishes, and “attending to -things.” After lunch was eaten and cleared away she would always sit -down resolved to work earnestly, but often Lawrence Iverson came in, and -while he was there, she dared not draw a line.</p> - -<h4>V</h4> - -<p><span class="smcap">Perhaps</span> the very foundation of her satisfaction with life lay in -Lawrence Iverson’s kindness. He would come swaggering up and talk -outrageously, unpardonably to Enid, look with a groan over Miss Mell’s -shoulder and call her work “filth for the hungry hogs.” But he would -look at Rosaleen’s dress designs and simpering fashion plates quite -seriously, and advise her, with wonderfully practical advice.</p> - -<p>What most touched her though was his niceness to Miss Waters. The poor -old thing was trapped one day, and couldn’t get away; had to stand there -in all her preposterousness, in her fur coat and her battered hat, and -allow that most elegant and criti<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_144">{144}</a></span>cal artist to be presented to her. -Rosaleen was frightened, thinking of Enid’s rudeness. But Iverson was -<i>not</i> rude; on the contrary he was very polite, very friendly. He talked -to her about Paris, and she was transported to the Seventh Heaven. Just -to recall the names of the streets! (She didn’t know very much else of -the city.) She went off with Rosaleen almost idiotic with pleasure.</p> - -<p>“Lawrence,” said Enid, when they had gone, “you make me <i>sick</i>!”</p> - -<p>“Why?” he enquired, twirling his little mustache.</p> - -<p>“You’re a regular, old-fashioned stage villain,” she said. “All the -trouble you’re taking—all the elaborate plots—to get that silly little -kid.”</p> - -<p>“Hold your tongue!” he said, flushing angrily. “Let’s have no more of -your beastly female obsessions.”</p> - -<h4>VI</h4> - -<p><span class="smcap">Two</span> days later he came upstairs unexpectedly early, before lunch, and -found Rosaleen peeling mushrooms in the dark back room. It made him -furious; he swore at Enid and Miss Mell and called them beastly -exploiters.</p> - -<p>“Rosaleen,” he said. “Come downstairs with me and work.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_145">{145}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“Don’t you go!” said Enid. “He’s a villain. He has evil designs upon -you.”</p> - -<p>Rosaleen turned crimson.</p> - -<p>“Oh, go along!” said Miss Mell. “It’ll do you good, Rosaleen. You can -take care of yourself.”</p> - -<p>“Of course she can!” said Enid. “All the little burgesses know how to do -that. Lawrence, if you want to love Rosaleen, you’ll have to pay for her -mushrooms all the days of your life!<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_146">{146}</a></span>”</p> - -<h3><a id="CHAPTER_THREE-b"></a>CHAPTER THREE</h3> - -<h4>I</h4> - -<p><span class="smcap">He</span> took her by the hand and led her down the dark stairs, and flung open -the door of his room ceremoniously. An immense room, which ran from the -front to the back of the house. It was bare, plain, neat as a pin, no -draperies, no artistic ornaments. And yet it had a fine air of luxury. -There was a splendid wood fire in the grate, and before it stood a -waggon with a silver tea service, brightly polished. Every one of the -chairs, ranged severely against the walls, was rare and beautiful; the -rug on the floor was a fine Chinese one. The walls were bare, not a -single picture to be seen but the one he was completing, on an easel -near the window.</p> - -<p>He was wonderfully polite. He settled Rosaleen at a little table and -brought her all the materials she required.</p> - -<p>“Now, my dear child,” he said. “Just what is it you want to do?”</p> - -<p>“Well,” said Rosaleen. “I’m afraid I’ve got to think about making -money.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_147">{147}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“Ah! Who hasn’t? Very well, then, so you shall!”</p> - -<p>He encouraged her very much. She sat at the little table working -patiently all the afternoon. They hardly spoke. He was at work on his -own canvas, but he took time now and then to go over to Rosaleen and -make a suggestion or a correction. She had never worked so well before; -the finished figures delighted her.</p> - -<p>When the light began to fail, he pushed the easel into a corner and -stretched.</p> - -<p>“Now, nice Rosaleen, make tea!” he said.</p> - -<p>She did her best, but tea-making was an exotic art for her; she -understood nothing of its possibilities.</p> - -<p>“Dear creature!” he cried. “I don’t want a concentrated essence of tea!”</p> - -<p>He took the charge from her, and began very deftly to do it himself. -Then he handed her a cup of delicate, fragrant, clear amber liquid -(which she privately considered much too weak). She drank it dutifully, -disappointed that there wasn’t so much as a cracker or a piece of bread -to go with it.</p> - -<p>“Shall I wash the tea things for you?” she asked, when they had -finished.</p> - -<p>He smiled.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_148">{148}</a></span></p> - -<p>“I have a person for that, thank you. No; let’s talk instead. We’ve -never had a talk alone.... Won’t you tell me something about yourself?”</p> - -<p>With her release from the Humbertian atmosphere, Rosaleen had lost her -former humility. None of these people would care in the least who her -mother was. She wasn’t ashamed now. She was rather glad of a chance to -place herself, to explain that she wasn’t “Miss Humbert.” She told him -candidly, and he seemed to hang on her words. Indeed, his interest -became embarrassing, for after she had ceased to speak, he still -continued to stare at her with a curious intensity. Somehow his face -looked <i>different</i>.... She stirred uneasily.</p> - -<p>“I’d better be going, I think,” she said. “They’ll——”</p> - -<p>But he stopped her as she was about to get up, with a hand on her arm.</p> - -<p>“No!” he said. “No!...”</p> - -<p>“Why?” she asked.</p> - -<p>His great staring eyes made her terribly uneasy.</p> - -<p>“I’ll really have to go,” she said. “It’s late.”</p> - -<p>He let her rise this time, but rose himself as well, and suddenly caught -her in his arms.</p> - -<p>She was for an instant too much astounded to struggle. But as he tried -to kiss her, she gave him a vigourous push.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_149">{149}</a></span></p> - -<p>“Let me go!” she cried. “What’s the <i>matter</i> with you?”</p> - -<p>He couldn’t delude himself that she was acting; he could see too plainly -the horrified incredulity in her eyes. He saw that he had made a -mistake.</p> - -<p>He released her at once.</p> - -<p>“Rosaleen!” he said. “I—apologise!”</p> - -<p>She turned away without answering and went to the door. But he went in -front of her.</p> - -<p>“Don’t be unreasonable!” he said. “I’m sorry. I can’t say any more, can -I? I didn’t mean anything. Shake hands and say you forgive me!”</p> - -<p>Rosaleen shook her head.</p> - -<p>“I can’t!” she said, with a faint sob. “You don’t—you <i>couldn’t</i> -know—how I hate anything of that sort.... And <i>you</i>!... I didn’t think -it was <i>in</i> you.”</p> - -<p>“It’s <i>in</i> all men,” said Lawrence, gloomily.</p> - -<p>“No, it isn’t!” said Rosaleen, thinking of that one quite perfect man -she had lost.</p> - -<p>“I tell you it is!” said Lawrence, beginning to grow angry. “What do you -know about men?”</p> - -<p>Rosaleen didn’t answer, but he saw a tear running down her cheek.</p> - -<p>“Bah!” he shouted. “Don’t be tragic, for God’s sake! Why should you make -such a row about<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_150">{150}</a></span> <i>that</i>? You’re none the worse, are you, in health, -morals or purse, because I tried to kiss you?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, I am!” said she, stubbornly. “I’ve lost something I thought a lot -of.... My confidence in——”</p> - -<p>“Don’t say confidence in me! I won’t allow women to have confidence in -me. It’s insulting. Go on, if you want to! Go upstairs and cry and -snivel and have a scene with your two precious friends.”</p> - -<p>She was half way up the stairs when he came bounding after her.</p> - -<p>“Rosaleen!” he whispered. “Please! Be friends again! I’m sorry. But I’m -sure you understand!”</p> - -<p>Against the ancient flattery of that appeal she had no defense. She took -the big hand he proffered.</p> - -<p>“All right!” she said, with her absurd, her heavenly benevolence.</p> - -<h4>II</h4> - -<p><span class="smcap">After</span> that he behaved very well. He was a most gallant and generous -friend, and a valuable one. In spite of his swagger, his bombastic talk, -in spite of his fatness and foppishness, he had undeniably a grand air, -a sort of magnificence. He saw to it that she was well treated by the -others,<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_151">{151}</a></span> and that she had an advantage over them. It lay in his hands to -bestow prestige, and he did so. She became tenfold more important, more -significant. He knew how to manage this. He gave Rosaleen privileges -which he permitted to no one else. Enid and Dodo were very rarely -invited into his studio, but Rosaleen worked there two or three days a -week.</p> - -<p>He hadn’t gone so far as to be seen in public with her, though. He -didn’t even take her to his own exhibition. He was a conspicuous and, in -certain circles, a well-known figure; he was very careful. He sometimes -gave her tickets for private views, and so on, or even for theatres and -concerts. He sent up chocolates and flowers from time to time, and the -foreign art journals to which he subscribed. But he drew a line. He -never asked Rosaleen into his studio when there was anyone there. More -than once when she had come down as she had been told to do the day -before, and knocked at his door, he would put out his head and stare at -her through his monocle.</p> - -<p>“Not to-day!” he would say. “Wait till I’m alone.”</p> - -<p>Enid used to jeer at this.</p> - -<p>“Sent home?” she would say, when Rosaleen returned so promptly. But -Rosaleen refused to resent this.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_152">{152}</a></span></p> - -<p>“Why in the world should he introduce me to his friends?” she asked. “He -only knows me in a—oh, a sort of business way.”</p> - -<p>“He doesn’t think you’re good enough,” said Enid.</p> - -<p>“Maybe I’m not,” said Rosaleen, unruffled. “I dare say he knows lots of -people who wouldn’t want to be bothered with me.”</p> - -<p>Not Enid nor Lawrence, nor anyone about her could understand her -attitude. They thought her humble, lacking in pride. Even Miss Mell -advised her to assert herself more. Whereas it <i>wasn’t</i> really humility, -or lack of pride or self-respect; it was her exquisite Irish sense of -propriety. She knew exactly where she belonged. And she didn’t hesitate -to place Lawrence higher than herself. He was an incomparably greater -artist, he was much more important, much more clever. As for his moral -worth, she didn’t take that into consideration. She never had made, she -never would make, the least effort to judge the morals of other people. -She had quite forgiven him his unique outburst, both because he was an -artist and outside the pale, and because she liked him. She had more -indulgence for him, in fact, than she would have had for her hero, Nick -Landry. No doubt because she didn’t expect very much from<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_153">{153}</a></span> Lawrence. She -went ahead, enjoying his companionship without the least distrust.</p> - -<p>He couldn’t have been nicer. To please her he even went so far as to go -with her to Miss Waters’ studio. He had met Rosaleen in the street, on -her way there.</p> - -<p>“She’d be so awfully pleased!” Rosaleen told him. “She admires your work -so much.”</p> - -<p>He was good-humoured that afternoon, and lazy, indisposed for work; so -he turned and walked along with her, like an opulent foreign prince in -his impressive fur-lined overcoat and his soft grey felt hat pulled down -over his swarthy brow.</p> - -<p>He didn’t stay long. Once in the street again he turned on Rosaleen with -a scowl.</p> - -<p>“Why didn’t you <i>tell</i> me?” he thundered, in a voice so loud that all -the passersby turned to stare.</p> - -<p>“Tell you what?” Rosaleen asked, frightened.</p> - -<p>“What the woman did in there? Why didn’t you tell me what blasphemous -crimes she committed? Good God! The woman should be flayed alive!”</p> - -<p>“Oh, don’t!” entreated Rosaleen. “Please don’t talk so loud—and please -don’t say horrible things about Miss Waters!”</p> - -<p>“Stop!” he said. “Never mention that name again!<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_154">{154}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>Rosaleen was glad to escape from him that time, and she never did -mention Miss Waters’ name to him again.</p> - -<h4>III</h4> - -<p><span class="smcap">The</span> time came inevitably when they felt the call to give a party. It was -almost simultaneous; they never knew quite whose idea it was. They were -all of them filled with enthusiasm, but it was more tremendous for -Rosaleen, because it was her first.</p> - -<p>They borrowed a phonograph from the “<span class="smcap">Fine Feathers</span>” girls, and Miss Mell -seriously undertook to teach Rosaleen to dance. Every evening after -dinner Enid would put on a dance record and Miss Mell, pinning up her -skirt so that her feet could the better be observed, would steer -Rosaleen through the steps of fox-trot, one-step and waltz. Enid would -criticise. But even she admitted that Rosaleen had a gift.</p> - -<p>“It’s Irishness,” she said. “They’re all nice dancers, I notice; all -those downtrodden, suffering nations, Poles and Irish, and so on. Queer, -isn’t it?”</p> - -<p>The invitations circulated mysteriously and casually, and were as -casually accepted. But it was none the less a festivity which required -great prep<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_155">{155}</a></span>arations. Rosaleen bought a new dress and Miss Mell made over -an old one. But Enid refused to make any further concession than a new -blouse, to be worn with her everyday skirt. And yet, on the night of the -party, when she was dressed, she was amazing. It was a low cut blouse, -and quite thin enough to reveal the matchless lines of her shoulders, -the perfection of her supple arms, her lovely throat. And she wore a -pearl necklace, a genuine one, which she never explained. It was the -first time that Rosaleen had realised her striking beauty, or the full -extent of her arrogant charm. Even in her new dress, with her hair -arranged so prettily, she felt, for a moment, just a little miserable -beside Enid.</p> - -<p>Miss Mell was dumpy and unobtrusive and correct, and according to her -custom, completely covered by a large gingham apron until the last -minute. She and Rosaleen cooked the early dinner, but Rosaleen couldn’t -eat and she would hardly allow them to, either. She hurried them so -anxiously, so that she could get everything ready before the party came. -Enid sprinkled powdered wax on the floor, and Rosaleen and Miss Mell -pushed all the furniture back against the walls. Then they lighted all -the candles, under their purple and yellow shades; then on a table in a -corner they arranged their refreshments, salad, cake and sandwiches got -from Miss Gosor<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_156">{156}</a></span>kus, and a bowl of punch. Miss Mell had oiled the -phonograph and bought some new records, and she instructed Rosaleen in -the art of manipulating it.</p> - -<p>“Be careful when you wind it up!” she cautioned. “Something’s wrong. It -rocks so. I’m afraid of its tipping off the table.”</p> - -<p>The preparations were completed very early, and the happy Rosaleen had -nothing to do but sit near the window to wait, where she could see the -lights glittering up Fifth Avenue, and the buses sailing to and fro.</p> - -<p>Presently Enid joined her, sat on the window sill, perfectly still, -perfectly silent. She didn’t even move when Lawrence came in, urbane and -indulgent, in evening dress. Rosaleen and Miss Mell welcomed him with -smiles; they were, and they were willing to show that they were, -tremendously flattered at his coming to their party.</p> - -<p>“I’ve brought some champagne,” he said. “It’s in the hall, in a pail of -ice.”</p> - -<p>“How <i>nice</i>!” said Miss Mell.</p> - -<p>He bowed politely. Then he turned his attention to Enid, sitting on the -window sill.</p> - -<p>“Well, my beauty!” he said, in his harsh voice, “Looking out there for a -new sweetheart?”</p> - -<p>Enid’s voice came, singularly flat and dispirited.</p> - -<p>“No,” she said. And after a pause. “I dare say<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_157">{157}</a></span> I was looking for -God.... What an empty looking heaven, isn’t it?”</p> - -<p>“On the contrary. I hear it’s extraordinarily crowded with planets and -constellations and that sort of thing. And probably ghosts.”</p> - -<p>“Do you believe in ghosts—really?”</p> - -<p>“No, my dear; I have no fears.”</p> - -<p>“Fears!” cried Enid. “Fears!... I wouldn’t call it a <i>fear</i>. I’d call it -a hope.... Oh! Don’t I wish I could see a ghost! I’m—I’m always looking -for something like that. Something to show that we don’t end.”</p> - -<p>“Aha! You’re afraid of death, are you?”</p> - -<p>“No!” she said, impatiently. “Don’t you understand? I don’t care when or -how I go. I don’t care whether I become an angel or a devil, or a puff -of breath in a great god’s mouth. Or a ghost. So long as it doesn’t -<i>end</i>.”</p> - -<p>“It <i>does</i> end,” said Lawrence. “Rest assured of that.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t you care?”</p> - -<p>“My dear creature, I shall never know it. I’ll never be conscious of -this highly unpleasant annihilation. It’s only the dread of it. And that -doesn’t exist if you refuse to think of it.”</p> - -<p>“But suppose there’s someone else you’re longing and longing to see -again?<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_158">{158}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“Now!” he cried, triumphantly. “Now we’re getting at the mystery of your -life. It’s a dead lover!”</p> - -<p>“Oh! You and your beastly obsession with lovers!” she cried, almost with -a sob. “It’s a—child’s ghost....”</p> - -<p>“Be thankful it’s out of this brutal, hostile world, then,” said -Lawrence. “Where’s Rosaleen? She lives in another nice little world, all -by herself.”</p> - -<p>“Perhaps hers is the real world,” said Enid. “I wish I could think so.”</p> - -<h4>IV</h4> - -<p><span class="smcap">It</span> was a wonderful ecstatic evening, the sort Rosaleen expected of -artists. The studio was crowded, suffocatingly hot, filled with a joyful -young riot. Except for Lawrence, they were all young. There was Miss -Gosorkus and a man she had brought, there were the two English girls -with three of their countrymen, there was a male cousin of Miss Mell’s -and three young ships’ officers known to her, and two old friends from -her art school. There was a distrait young Frenchman desperately in love -with Enid, and a lot of other people who drifted in and out. There was a -terrific amount of noise; they were wilfully, exaggeratedly noisy; they<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_159">{159}</a></span> -sang, shouted and stamped. The old phonograph blared its loudest, and -the couples danced as best they could in the crowd. They drank the punch -and the champagne and grew wilder and wilder. Rosaleen, astonished and -delighted, believed herself actually to be witnessing one of those -“orgies” so often mentioned in the papers as taking place in artists’ -studios. It was not till long, long afterward that she realised how -innocent, how decent, how happy it really was, how young....</p> - -<p>At first she was rather ignored. Enid was so dazzling that she captured -all the strangers, and the rest of the crowd all knew Dodo Mell and went -to her in preference to Rosaleen. But, by the time the thing was in full -swing, she, too, had at last secured the exclusive attention of someone; -she, too, like Enid, like Devery, younger of the English girls, like the -two Art School girls, had a man standing at her side and admiring her -when he wasn’t dancing with her. She didn’t know his name or who he was, -but he was amusing and rather attractive; a curly-haired, black-eyed -young man, looking rather like a sprightly devil, with outstanding ears -which gave him a singularly alert air.</p> - -<p>Suddenly, almost of one accord, they all wearied of dancing.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_160">{160}</a></span></p> - -<p>“Let’s go out somewhere,” said Rosaleen’s young man. It was the classic -suggestion, and they all agreed joyfully.</p> - -<p>“I’ll take you all to the Brevoort for supper,” said the magnificent -Lawrence.</p> - -<p>Rosaleen was passing about a basket of cigarettes, and she happened at -that instant to be standing at his elbow. And she said, with polite and -surprised joy:</p> - -<p>“How <i>nice</i>!”</p> - -<p>He turned and looked at her, fixed his monocle and stared at her.</p> - -<p>“I’d forgotten all about <i>you</i>!” he said. “What are <i>you</i> doing?”</p> - -<p>“Having a lovely time!” she told him, with a smile.</p> - -<p>“You look very pretty,” he said. “Very sweet....”</p> - -<p>And she fancied, half ashamed of the fancy, that again his face changed -as it had done that afternoon in his studio.</p> - -<p>He bent his lordly head.</p> - -<p>“I want to speak to you!” he whispered. “Slip into the back room and -wait!”</p> - -<p>A little reluctant, but very curious, she did so; and for five very long -minutes stood in there, with<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_161">{161}</a></span> the gas turned low, and the two cots piled -with imposing male overcoats and sticks, and the furs and wraps of the -girls. The sound of the music and the dancing feet made her impatient: -someone shouted “One more before we go! Put on a <i>good</i> record, Enid!” -She really couldn’t have endured it much longer, if Lawrence hadn’t -come. But, though he had said he wanted to speak to her, he stood there -speechless, fingering his monocle, not even looking at her. At last he -said:</p> - -<p>“Er ... Rosaleen!... It occurred to me—wouldn’t you like to stop for -your Miss Waters?”</p> - -<p>She thought she had never heard a kinder, a more generous idea.</p> - -<p>“Why, yes, I <i>would</i>!” she said. “It’s very nice of you to think of -that!”</p> - -<p>“Then we’d better arrange this way. You go downstairs with the others, -but slip into my studio. The door’s open and it’s dark; no one will -notice you. Then I’ll make some excuse to get away from them, and I’ll -come back here with a taxi.”</p> - -<p>“A taxi! We won’t need a taxi. It’s only a step. And I don’t see why we -need to make such a secret of it all——”</p> - -<p>“Enid would make a row,” he said with a frown. “No; do it my way, if you -please!<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_162">{162}</a></span>”</p> - -<h4>V</h4> - -<p><span class="smcap">The</span> dawn was coming when the taxi drew up to the door. Lawrence got out, -helped Rosaleen to descend, and while he paid the enormous reckoning she -stood in the dim street, over which hung that strange air of suspense -which comes before the sunrise. The street lights still burned, but -against a palely clear sky; the sparrows in the park were beginning to -stir.</p> - -<p>Lawrence opened the front door with his key and they entered the dark -hall, musty with the smell of cooking, of paints. Outside his own door -he held out a hand and she took it; an immense, fat hand.</p> - -<p>“Now then, it’s all <i>right</i>, isn’t it?” he said, with exaggerated -heartiness. “No ill feeling, is there? We’re the best of friends?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes!” said Rosaleen, brightly, and in her mind added:</p> - -<p>“If only I can get away from you and never, never set eyes on you again -...!”</p> - -<p>A desolating weariness was upon her; her limbs were like lead as she -climbed the stairs. Her chief desire was not to wake Mell and -Bainbridge; the idea of having to talk to them, to open her lips even to -answer them, was intolerable. She had had her fill of talking that -night.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_163">{163}</a></span></p> - -<p>For the sake of ventilation the girls always slept with the curtains -between the rooms drawn back and the studio windows open; and so it was -now. She could see them there in the back room, solemnly still, on their -cots, with the faint breeze of the sunrise blowing through the big room -and lifting a fine, cindery dust from the hearth. Rosaleen sat down near -the window and rested her head on her arms, on the broad sill.</p> - -<p>Now that the sun had got up, the whole thing began to assume the -character of a nightmare. Her tired brain began to confuse the memory of -Lawrence with the drawing of a gargoyle she had seen in his studio the -day before. In a blurred memory she seemed to see him as a sort of -monster who had for hours and hours been sitting by her side and -talking. Talking and talking and talking. And about what, do you -suppose, but to urge her to run away with him. She had said she <i>didn’t -want to</i>, but he had considered that of no importance. He had considered -it a matter for logic, for reasoning. He had tried to show her the -advantages; and when she persisted in saying that she didn’t want to, he -had become offensive and horrible. He had never had the faintest -intention of going after Miss Waters; the taxi, by his command, went -speeding through Central Park, up Riverside Drive, went on through<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_164">{164}</a></span> -roads and streets unknown to her, while Lawrence talked, shouted, -bullied her. She had never imagined anything so horrible. And yet she -wasn’t afraid of him. Perhaps some feminine instinct informed her that a -talking man, like a barking dog, is not to be feared.</p> - -<p>And, quite suddenly, touched by some obscure impulse, he had become -sorry. He had called himself a brute and a beast; he said he must have -been mad, and she was privately inclined to agree with him. She didn’t -know that it was his theory that women are to be won by force, by -daring. With her, love could only be the outcome of sympathy. She could -only love a man because she liked him. But she was not so much angry at -Lawrence as disgusted and astonished. When he begged for her forgiveness -she gave it promptly, and hoped that this would be the end of this -immeasurably painful scene. But it was not enough. Nothing would do but -a reconciliation, and for this it appeared necessary to go to a road -house and have supper and more champagne. She sat at the table with him -in the crowded, noisy dining-room, while he acted the jovial host; she -had a constrained but polite smile for his pleasantries. She had been as -diplomatic with him as if he had been a lunatic.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_165">{165}</a></span></p> - -<p>All the way home he had worshipped her as an angel. He said he wasn’t -fit to live in the same world with her....</p> - -<p>And now, with the world awake, the sun shining, the streets alive, for -the first time since the wretched fiasco, Rosaleen began to weep for -young Landry.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_166">{166}</a></span></p> - -<h3><a id="CHAPTER_FOUR-b"></a>CHAPTER FOUR</h3> - -<h4>I</h4> - -<p><span class="smcap">She</span> needn’t have worried; neither Enid nor Dodo Mell asked a single -question. Somewhere near ten o’clock Enid woke up and at once shook her -sleepy friend, who, after putting on her spectacles and a lavender -kimono, set to work to make coffee. And suddenly discovered Rosaleen -asleep in a chair in the studio.</p> - -<p>“Coffee, Rosaleen!” she called, cheerfully.</p> - -<p>She awoke with a start and sat up, pale and dishevelled, in her party -dress and slippers. But they showed no surprise. Breakfast was ready on -a trunk in the back room and they all sat down to it, the benign Dodo in -her kimono, Enid in a smock and petticoat, with her bare feet in mules, -and Rosaleen with her incongruously dissipated look.</p> - -<p>“<i>Nice</i> rolls!” said Enid. “Where’d you get them, Rosaleen?”</p> - -<p>“A little new baker’s,” Rosaleen answered.</p> - -<p>Never had her friends seemed so charming, or a feminine world so -desirable. The coffee cheered her sad heart, and raised her spirits, and -after she had<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_167">{167}</a></span> bathed and dressed, she lost all sense of fatigue. She -had, in fact, that false vigour one sometimes has after a sleepless -night, that sensation of being all mind and spirit and no body.</p> - -<p>“Ambrose is coming this afternoon!” called Miss Mell, suddenly, from her -drawing, to Rosaleen washing handkerchiefs in the rusty sink.</p> - -<p>“Who’s Ambrose?” she asked.</p> - -<p>“Oh, my dear, how cruel! Why, he’s the one who adored you so last night. -He’s my cousin.”</p> - -<p>Rosaleen recollected the young man like a sprightly devil, with the -curly hair and the outstanding ears.</p> - -<p>“I’d better tidy up the place then,” she said. “It’s awful.”</p> - -<p>“I’ll treat us all to cakes for tea,” said Dodo. “If you’ll get them, -Rosaleen?”</p> - -<p>“And there are two dead mice in the trap,” said Enid. “Better take them -out!”</p> - -<p>Rosaleen protested; this was an intolerable task. But Dodo and Enid -assured her that the mice would stay there until she removed them.</p> - -<p>“And every day it’ll be worse,” said Enid.</p> - -<p>So Rosaleen was obliged to drop the little victims into an empty cracker -box and throw them out of the window at the back of the hall. She -fetched the cakes and borrowed an extra cup from Miss<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_168">{168}</a></span> Gosorkus. Then -she sat down listlessly. Her work was all in Lawrence’s studio, and she -had nothing to do.</p> - -<h4>II</h4> - -<p><span class="smcap">Ambrose Matthews</span> was, in fact, a very welcome distraction. He came that -afternoon, and he was so nicely entertained that he returned again and -again, nearly every day. Enid said she didn’t mind as long as he waited -until five o’clock, because then the light wasn’t any good. Miss Mell -was not disturbed by talking, or by walking, or by singing or by dancing -while she worked, and Rosaleen, it must be confessed, cared very little -whether she worked at all, or not.</p> - -<p>Ambrose was a young man with an obsession. Two generations ago it would -have been called Love; one generation past would have called it Women; -but he, of course, called it Sex. He was a writer, he said. His father -supported him, so that he didn’t need to be “commercial.” He was indeed -so uncommercial that his creations never got beyond his own brain. -However, he was only twenty-two, and still regarding his world.</p> - -<p>The talk, during his visits, was supposed to be stimulating, and it -resolved itself into a sort of duel between Ambrose and Rosaleen, in -which Enid<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_169">{169}</a></span> was the young man’s perverse second and Miss Mell assisted -Rosaleen in her defense.</p> - -<p>He used to bring lurid little magazines of strange shapes and colours, -things that never lasted more than a few months.</p> - -<p>“Why do they publish the things?” asked Miss Mell. “They certainly can’t -pay. And nobody could possibly enjoy them.”</p> - -<p>“Listen to this!” said Ambrose. “It’s <i>good</i>!”</p> - -<p>And then would follow the expression of some individual’s point of view, -which was called an “article,” always about fallen women, race suicide, -and so on. It appeared from these little publications that it was not -only necessary but “sincere” and altogether praiseworthy to repeat all -the well-known facts and statistics on these subjects over and over, -endlessly. No matter how trite, or how biased, so long as the author was -“sincere” and stuck to more or less forbidden topics, his “article” -<i>must</i> be published, and his opinion <i>must</i> be respected. It was a crime -against society not to be eternally interested in these things.</p> - -<p>Rosaleen was well aware that Ambrose had no intentions toward her of a -personal nature; he was simply mildly attracted by her. But as a matter -of principle he was forever urging on her his point of view. He couldn’t -endure her inviolable reserve;<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_170">{170}</a></span> it made him furious that she would not -discuss these things. He was always saying how incomplete was the life -of a woman without an “affair.” And he was not content with -dissertations upon the influence of love on the soul; he became medical -and pathological and sociological. According to him, the life of a -spinster was not only anti-social and morbid; it was a sort of suicide; -it led inevitably to madness and death. Facts did not disturb him; the -numbers of self-respecting celibate women he was naturally obliged to -meet, who were neither ill nor mad, and who were quite as happy as the -married women, convinced him not at all. All these women, he insisted, -were either absorbed in secret love-affairs, or—or they could not and -did not exist. He denied them.</p> - -<p>“I’ll tell you what’s the matter with you and your professors and your -doctors and your writers,” said Enid, one day. “It makes you all frantic -to think that women can get along without you. Well, they can and they -do, plenty of them.”</p> - -<p>Ambrose said, no, they didn’t. Or if they did, they were dreadfully -unhappy.</p> - -<p>“No more unhappy than <i>with</i> them,” said Enid.</p> - -<p>As for Rosaleen, she said nothing. She didn’t agree with either Ambrose -or Enid. She felt that she should have liked very much to have a -husband<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_171">{171}</a></span> and children, but that, if they never came to her, she should -nevertheless manage to live a fairly pleasant and happy life. She knew, -however, that this was not a “view,” and that no one would have been -interested in hearing it.</p> - -<p>In spite of his fixed idea, they not only tolerated Ambrose, but they -were rather fond of him. He filled a gap. He was, in a way, their pet. -They liked to see his curly head leaning against the back of their big -wing chair; they liked to hear his voice, and to smell the smoke of his -pipe. He was another young thing in their young world; and what in later -life was to be highly unpleasant, was now, at twenty-three, harmless and -laughable.</p> - -<p>Lawrence never came. Dodo and Enid saw that there was a mystery here, -and they spoke of it to each other more than once. Sometimes they -laughed and sometimes they were angry. The way in which he had invited -everyone to supper and then run off and left the others to pay! But they -didn’t mention it to Rosaleen, and she, in despair of ever being able to -explain that extraordinary evening, never brought up the subject. But -they all missed him. Once in a while Miss Mell would say, “There goes -Lawrence!” and they would run to the window, to see him, in his great -fur-lined coat and silk hat, getting into a taxi, off to one of those -teas where he<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_172">{172}</a></span> so shone. He was inordinately fond of “society”: they -read his name in the papers in connection with all sorts of pageants, -charity balls, amateur theatricals, costume dances. He said he did it to -get business, but that wasn’t quite true. He did it because he liked it; -because he liked the idle and seductive women who flattered him. He had -sitters, too, women who came in elegant limousines and had tea with him. -He never raised his eyes to the windows above.</p> - -<h4>III</h4> - -<p><span class="smcap">But</span> one day early in April, just before the Spring came, he appeared, -just as usual, in the doorway.</p> - -<p>“Hello!” said Enid, carelessly. “We didn’t expect <i>you</i>. We haven’t any -cup for your tea. We broke our only extra one this morning.”</p> - -<p>“The obliging Dorothy Mell will go down to my room and get one,” said -he, “also a package of chocolates on the table by the window. Eh?”</p> - -<p>She did, and she brought up all Rosaleen’s work and left it secretly in -the back room.</p> - -<p>Lawrence was unusually polite. He asked them all how they were getting -on, and listened with interest while they told him. They were all a -little proud of their progress. Miss Mell had three big orders ahead of -her. Enid was going to have an<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_173">{173}</a></span> exhibition with three other young and -arrogantly unpopular artists. And Rosaleen was more or less regularly -employed by a magazine to do each month a page of—if you can believe -that such things exist—“childrens’ fashions.”</p> - -<p>“You’re all doing very nicely,” he said. “I’m very much pleased. I came -up to give you my blessing before I go.”</p> - -<p>“Before you go!” said Miss Mell. “Where are you going?”</p> - -<p>“I’m giving up my place downstairs, and to-morrow, <i>to-morrow</i>, I’m off -to Paris! Paris the kind, Paris the friendly! Paris the beneficent -goddess of my student days! I have a nostalgia, my children.... So I -shall kiss you all good-bye and give you a little fatherly advice before -leaving....”</p> - -<p>He swaggered over to Rosaleen’s table.</p> - -<p>“No reason why you shouldn’t become successful,” he said. “You must -know, my children, that brains are not necessary to an artist. An artist -can be absolutely crude and ignorant, and yet be a genius. He needs only -an ardent spirit. Of course, you haven’t got that, Rosaleen, but then -you’re not an artist. But take this Enid girl. Give her a certain amount -of knowledge, as definite as that of a brick-layer; teach this woman to -draw, and she <i>will</i> be an artist—of a sort. She doesn’t need to know<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_174">{174}</a></span> -anything else. She won’t need to read, or to think....”</p> - -<p>“Oh, so you’re beginning to see me, are you?” said Enid.</p> - -<p>“I always did see you, my dear. You’re very nice to see. Children, -listen to my advice. If a woman wishes to make herself irresistible, -after attending to personal appearance, I recommend her to become an -artist or an actress. Nothing else will give her the same prestige—not -even a lot of money. There’s a rakishness about it—a spiciness. It -gives a piquancy even to Rosaleen.”</p> - -<p>He laughed.</p> - -<p>“Good Lord!” he said. “How they all love us! It’s queer.... Of all -artists, the painter is the favourite with the public. To most of them, -artist <i>means</i> painter.... And yet, thinking it over, it’s not so hard -to understand this favouritism. The painter is apt to be more ordinary, -more normal, more human, than the poet or the musician. His art is more -obvious, more facile. It certainly requires less ‘temperament.’ The -painter is not required to be erratic and morbid. In fact, a proper -painter is expected to be more or less rollicking. I ask you to consider -for a moment the popular idea of what goes on in our studios! The public -imagines the poet sitting up all night writing in ecstasy, the musi<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_175">{175}</a></span>cian -forever before his instrument. But the painter! Lord! They never think -of us as <i>working</i>. We’re supposed to be eternally pawning our dead -mother’s ring for money for Bohemian orgies, to be rowdy and care-free -and generous, and all that sort of thing. The painter is the only artist -that the public likes to see happy.”</p> - -<p>“Of course it’s the easiest art to understand,” said Enid.</p> - -<p>“Don’t talk, woman, but listen and try to learn. There’s no question -here of ‘understanding’ art. But it’s easier and pleasanter for people -to look at a painting, which takes only a minute, than it is to listen -to an opera, or to read an epic.... So I advise you all to be artists, -my children, and to enjoy yourselves.”</p> - -<p>Then he solemnly kissed them each good-bye.</p> - -<p>And after that, no more of Lawrence for a long time.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_176">{176}</a></span></p> - -<h3><a id="CHAPTER_FIVE-b"></a>CHAPTER FIVE</h3> - -<p><span class="smcap">Miss Waters</span> was clearing out her desk that morning. She had a pupil -drawing in the studio, but it was a pupil who was meek and ignorant and -could be left alone. She was trying to figure out just how much she -owed, writing in an exercise book, with great precision, the amount, the -date, and the nature of each bill.</p> - -<p class="c"> -<small>WILLIAM WELLS—GROCER—EGGS, COFFEE,<br /> -BREAD, JAM—MAY</small> 4<small>TH</small>, 1915. $3.07.<br /> -</p> - -<p>That was an old one.... Bills for paints, brushes, paper, for headache -powders, cold cream and “druggists’ sundries,” for framing, bills of -carpenters, coal and wood men, icemen, butchers. And she had got into -one of her panics, at the sight of all these debts, and the thought of -her penniless old age. Her mind would rush round like a little animal in -a cage, looking for a chance of escape. She felt trapped and terrified. -She didn’t know how to earn or how to save. She foresaw herself starving -in a garret, dying in the ward of a hospital, going mad, being paralysed -and helpless, all the spectres that haunted her hours of serious -thought.</p> - -<p>There was a ring at the door bell. She didn’t go.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_177">{177}</a></span> She always waited -hoping that the presumable collector would go away. But it rang again -and again, and at last the meek little pupil called out, “I think your -bell is ringing, Miss Waters!” So finally she opened the door, to see -there the obliging little Italian fruiterer.</p> - -<p>“Telephone!” he cried, in great excitement. “Telephone, Missa Wata!”</p> - -<p>Having no telephone in her own flat, Miss Waters had long ago made an -“arrangement” with Tony, by which she was permitted to give her friends -his telephone number, and was to be summoned by him when anyone of them -should call for her. It didn’t happen very often.</p> - -<p>“Oh, my!” she said. “I’m so busy! Do you know who it is, Tony?”</p> - -<p>He shook his head.</p> - -<p>“Telephone!” he cried, again.</p> - -<p>“Er—chi?” she enquired. “Chi, Tony?”</p> - -<p>“Doan know!” he cried, in distress. “Doan know! Missa Wata coma quick!”</p> - -<p>She slipped into a rain-coat and hurried out to the little shop on the -corner, where at the back, among barrels and boxes and crates and a -pungent smell of oranges, was Tony’s telephone. She picked up the -receiver.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_178">{178}</a></span></p> - -<p>“Ye-hes?” she enquired, in her most cultivated voice.</p> - -<p>“Number please!” said the operator.</p> - -<p>“I don’t want a number,” Miss Waters explained. “Someone called me!”</p> - -<p>“Your party’s hung up!” said the operator.</p> - -<p>Miss Waters didn’t comprehend, but Tony’s wife, an opulent young woman -nursing a big baby, exclaimed:</p> - -<p>“Your fren, she no wait. You come too slow. She go away. Gooda-bye.”</p> - -<p>Miss Waters was frantically distressed, and protested through the -telephone. But the operator had no consolation to give her, and Tony and -his wife were smiling and indifferent. She left the shop, after buying -an orange to placate Tony, and returned to her flat. But her distress -did not subside; she felt that she had been called upon and had not -responded, that in some way she had failed someone.</p> - -<p>And suddenly came to the conclusion that it must have been Rosaleen. She -“just felt” that it was. And it worried her beyond measure. She knew -that Rosaleen was quite alone in her studio now, for Mell and Bainbridge -had gone to Provincetown for the month of July, and she felt sure that -something was wrong. Rosaleen wouldn’t have called her out for nothing. -She peered into the studio; the meek<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_179">{179}</a></span> pupil was still drawing a “study” -of empty boxes; then she hurried out of the flat and back to Tony’s -fruit store.</p> - -<p>It was Rosaleen’s own voice that answered, and she gave an odd cry:</p> - -<p>“Miss Waters!... I’d been trying....”</p> - -<p>“I thought so, dear! Was there——”</p> - -<p>“Please come right away!” Rosaleen interrupted her, with desperate -earnestness. “Just as quickly as you possibly can! Please, <i>please</i> -hurry!”</p> - -<p>“What’s wrong, my dear?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, never <i>mind</i>! I’ll tell you when you get here. Hurry!”</p> - -<p>Her great anxiety made the poor old soul slower than ever. With -fumbling, trembling fingers she tried to dress in such a way as to be -ready for any emergency; then she went into the studio to excuse herself -to the pupil, and couldn’t get away from her; stood there saying utterly -unnecessary things, repeating herself. At last she was hurrying across -the park in the glare of the July sun, trying to walk her fastest, but -with a nightmare sensation of being as stiff as a wooden doll, and -covering no ground. She hurried up the dark stairs and knocked on the -studio door. It was flung open and Rosaleen confronted her.</p> - -<p>She gave a shriek of terror.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_180">{180}</a></span></p> - -<p>“Rosaleen!” she cried. “Oh!... Rosaleen!”</p> - -<p>To see neat, fair Rosaleen like this, white as a ghost, with her hair -half down, her dress spattered with blood!...</p> - -<p>“What <i>is</i> it? What <i>is</i> it?” she cried.</p> - -<p>“Hush!” whispered Rosaleen, shaking her arm. “Keep quiet! You’ve got to -help me!”</p> - -<p>Miss Waters followed her into the back room, but she couldn’t suppress -another scream. For there on one of the cots lay the enormous bulk of a -man, with his eyes closed and his hair dank and wet across his brow.</p> - -<p>“What shall I do with him?” whispered Rosaleen.</p> - -<p>“Who <i>is</i> he?” Miss Waters asked.</p> - -<p>“Why, Lawrence Iverson, of course!”</p> - -<p>“What’s the matter with him, Rosaleen?” Miss Waters cried. “Is -he—drunk?”</p> - -<p>“No! He tried to kill himself!”</p> - -<p>“Mercy!”</p> - -<p>“He cut his wrist with a knife, and said he was going to bleed to -death——”</p> - -<p>“Send for a doctor <i>quickly</i>!”</p> - -<p>“No! Then he’d be put in prison. It’s against the law.” They both stared -helplessly at the silent man.</p> - -<p>“We ought to tie it up,” said Miss Waters.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_181">{181}</a></span></p> - -<p>“I did. I don’t think it’s bleeding any more. But I’m afraid it was too -late. He wouldn’t let me touch it at first. Oh, Miss Waters! Is he -dying?”</p> - -<p>Miss Waters couldn’t help thinking so; anyone who lay quiet with closed -eyes and a face as white as that was presumably dying.</p> - -<p>“I think you <i>ought</i> to get a doctor,” she said. “You might be accused -of murdering him.”</p> - -<p>“I can’t help it,” said Rosaleen. “I told him I wouldn’t.”</p> - -<p>“Did he talk?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, lots. He came in while I was eating my lunch.... Came bursting in -the moment I opened the door. And he said he’d lost everything—he said -‘Heaven had mocked him’.... Then he said, ‘Rosaleen, I’m going to kill -myself, and I must have you near me when I die,’ and he took a knife out -of his pocket.... Oh!...”</p> - -<p>She gripped Miss Waters’ hand violently, struggling against a sort of -convulsion of sickness and terror.</p> - -<p>“Oh! No, no, no! Don’t comfort me, or anything.... I’ve <i>got</i> to brace -up.... If I let go ... one minute ... I’ll scream!”</p> - -<p>Miss Waters felt that if Rosaleen screamed, she would go mad. With -trembling hands she took off her jacket and hat, and laid them on a -chair.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_182">{182}</a></span></p> - -<p>“Shall we give him some brandy?”</p> - -<p>“I haven’t any.”</p> - -<p>“I’ll run out and get some.”</p> - -<p>Rosaleen blanched at the thought of waiting alone with her sinister -guest, but she gallantly agreed. And Miss Waters put on her things again -and went, with weak knees and pounding heart, down the stairs to the -street. She didn’t know where to get brandy; she stood irresolutely -outside the house for a moment; then she hurried to the <span class="smcap">Fine Feathers’</span> -shop and approached the elder partner, Miss Sillon.</p> - -<p>“I want some brandy for a sick person!” she whispered. “Have you any?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, I have!” answered Miss Sillon. “What <i>is</i> the matter, Miss Waters? -You look absolutely done up. Who’s sick?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, no one special!” cried Miss Waters, in mortal terror lest this -acute young woman should penetrate the mystery.</p> - -<p>Miss Sillon asked no more questions, but fetched a small flask and gave -it to Miss Waters.</p> - -<p>“Call on me, you know, if you want anything,” she said. “I’m awfully -practical!”</p> - -<p>“Oh, no, thank you!” said Miss Waters. “I—I—I have a trained nurse and -a doctor waiting....”</p> - -<p>Rosaleen let her in.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_183">{183}</a></span></p> - -<p>“He’s groaning now,” she said. “Is that a good sign, do you think?”</p> - -<p>Miss Waters shook her head.</p> - -<p>“Here’s the brandy,” she said.</p> - -<p>“How do you give it?” asked Rosaleen. “With water? Hot? Out of a spoon?”</p> - -<p>Miss Waters reflected. Then she remembered often having seen in moving -pictures flasks being held to the lips of injured persons. So Rosaleen -lifted up his head and Miss Waters poured a little brandy down his -throat. He opened his great black eyes and fixed her with a sombre, -dreadful stare.</p> - -<p>“Oh, mercy!” she cried.</p> - -<p>Rosaleen hastily laid his head back on the pillow and came round to look -at him.</p> - -<p>“Mr. Iverson!” she cried. “Are you better?”</p> - -<p>He groaned and flung his arms across his face. And began to sob in a -hoarse, heart-rending voice.</p> - -<p>“Oh, Lawrence dear!” she cried, kneeling down beside him. “What is the -trouble? What can I do for you?”</p> - -<p>His great body was shaking with the violence of his sobs. Rosaleen put -her arms about him.</p> - -<p>“Please don’t cry!” she entreated.</p> - -<p>She tried gently to take his arms away, so that she could see his face, -but he resisted, and she was afraid to persist, for fear of hurting his -bandaged<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_184">{184}</a></span> wrist. She laid her cheek against his hands and clasped him -tighter, suffering with him, in anguish at his despair.</p> - -<p>“Tell me!” she said. “What can I do for you?”</p> - -<p>Very slowly he took down his arms and let her see his awful face, his -desperate and forlorn regard.</p> - -<p>“Well!” he said. “What do you imagine you can do? <i>I’m going blind!</i><span class="pagenum"><a id="page_185">{185}</a></span>”</p> - -<h2><a id="BOOK_THREE"></a>BOOK THREE: FORLORN ROSALEEN</h2> - -<h3><a id="CHAPTER_ONE-c"></a>CHAPTER ONE</h3> - -<h4>I</h4> - -<p><span class="smcap">At</span> first he couldn’t believe it. He thought it was; he followed her for -two blocks; then he decided it wasn’t, and suddenly she had stopped to -look in a shop window, and he knew. He was shocked. This the pretty, -endearing kid of two years ago, this haggard, hollow-cheeked woman so -shabbily dressed, without gloves, with worn old boots, with that air of -haste and anxiety!</p> - -<p>“Rosaleen!” he said.</p> - -<p>She whirled round and looked into his face with startled eyes.</p> - -<p>“Why!” she cried. “<i>Mr. Landry!</i>”</p> - -<p>He took her little bare hand and looked down at her, distressed beyond -measure by the change in the poor little thing. But smiling, to hide his -disturbance.</p> - -<p>“Where are you off to, in such a hurry?” he asked, “I’ve been trying to -catch you up for a long time.”</p> - -<p>“I’m going home.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_186">{186}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“Still living up-town?”</p> - -<p>“No; down in Washington Square.”</p> - -<p>He couldn’t endure to let go of her hand, he couldn’t endure the thought -of losing her; the tenderness and affection he had felt for her two -years ago came back a hundredfold now. A tenderness that wrung his -heart. To see her so shabby, so thin, so anxious, and still with her -lovely, luminous grey eyes....</p> - -<p>“Can’t I walk with you part of the way?” he asked.</p> - -<p>“I was going in the ‘L’,” she said, doubtfully.</p> - -<p>“But you’re not in a hurry?... Have you had lunch?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I couldn’t!”</p> - -<p>“Nonsense! Come on!”</p> - -<p>She wavered; and he instantly took advantage of her irresolution by -taking her arm.</p> - -<p>“Please!” he said. “It’s Saturday, the one day I don’t have to hurry.”</p> - -<p>And, so afraid was he of any silence between them, that he began to talk -about nothing; about how he had come up to Tiffany’s from his office, to -see about a watch he was having repaired. About how fine the weather was -for March, and how lively Fifth Avenue looked, and so on, until they -were outside the little restaurant he had decided upon.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_187">{187}</a></span></p> - -<p>“I can’t, Mr. Landry! I look too—awful!”</p> - -<p>“Rosaleen, you couldn’t look awful. And if I don’t mind, I don’t believe -anyone else will complain.”</p> - -<p>She followed him to a corner table and sat down, confused and -embarrassed, opposite him. She was so conscious of her bare hands, her -carelessly dressed hair. He ordered a substantial lunch, and then leaned -across the table, to look at her.</p> - -<p>“You’re much thinner,” he said. “Why? You don’t look well!”</p> - -<p>“I’m all right,” she said. “How are you?”</p> - -<p>“I’m not all right,” he answered. “I’ve never been all right since I was -fool enough to let you go.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, no!” she said, with a bitter little smile. “Don’t pretend you’ve -been thinking of me all the time. I know better!”</p> - -<p>“No,” he said, in his serious way. “I’m not saying I’ve thought of you -all the time. What I mean is, that I realised long ago—that you were -the—the right one—the only woman in the world for me....”</p> - -<p>She smiled again, but with tears in her eyes.</p> - -<p>“Let’s not be silly!” she said. “Let’s just be good friends.....”</p> - -<p>“No!... Look here, Rosaleen.... I wish I could tell you how I feel.... -At first, I’ll be<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_188">{188}</a></span> honest—At first I was angry. I felt that you hadn’t -been fair with me.... I thought I’d forget the whole thing. But I -couldn’t. I wrote to you, twice. And then when you didn’t answer, I -thought—it was over. It haunted me. I promise you, Rosaleen——”</p> - -<p>She laid her hand very lightly on his arm.</p> - -<p>“Please—let’s not bring it all up again?” she said. “It <i>is</i> all -over.... Tell me how you’ve been getting on. You look—splendid.”</p> - -<p>And she really thought he did. He was well-dressed, he had a prosperous, -an important air; he was no longer a boy, but a man, and a mighty -self-confident man.</p> - -<p>“I’m doing very well,” he said. “But I want to hear about you.”</p> - -<p>“Oh!... I’m an artist!” she said, laughing. “A regular professional -artist.”</p> - -<p>“Are you? It doesn’t seem to agree with you.”</p> - -<p>“It isn’t the work that disagrees with me; it’s the not getting any -work. I’m poor!”</p> - -<p>“Do you support yourself? Don’t you live with—those Humberts any -longer?”</p> - -<p>She shook her head.</p> - -<p>“No,” she said. “You see ... I’m married.”</p> - -<p>“<i>Rosaleen!</i>” he cried.</p> - -<p>For a few moments he was silent, looking at her,<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_189">{189}</a></span> filled with an immense -regret, a remorse that stifled him.</p> - -<p>“Who?” he asked at last.</p> - -<p>“An artist.”</p> - -<p>“But—doesn’t the fellow support you? Doesn’t he—work?”</p> - -<p>“He tries. But he’s nearly blind.”</p> - -<p>“Good God! And you support him?”</p> - -<p>“I do the best I can. Only I’ve been sick.”</p> - -<p>“No!” he cried. “Rosaleen, this is horrible! What can I do to help you?”</p> - -<p>“Don’t!” she said. “You’ll make me cry.... You—you make me so—so sorry -for myself....”</p> - -<p>They couldn’t finish their lunch, either of them. Landry paid the check, -and they rose. But as she was passing out in front of him, he stopped -her.</p> - -<p>“Rosaleen,” he said. “They have very good chocolates here. You used to -like chocolates. Let me get you a box!”</p> - -<p>But now she was crying, and he hastily turned with her into a quieter -street.</p> - -<p>“No cause for tears!” he said, cheerfully.</p> - -<p>“I know it!... But I’m—I’m a fool.... I’m nervous, I guess....”</p> - -<p>“I’ll take you home.”</p> - -<p>“No, I’d <i>rather</i> not, Mr. Landry!”</p> - -<p>“Don’t you want to see me again?<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_190">{190}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“Yes, I do. Any evening—this evening, if you like.”</p> - -<p>He wrote down the address.</p> - -<p>“But I don’t like to let you go like this!” he said. “I don’t think -you’re fit. Let me get you a taxi?”</p> - -<p>“No, thanks, really I’m perfectly all right!”</p> - -<p>She smiled at him to convince him. And with a long hand clasp they -separated. He stood looking after her, with a pity almost beyond his -endurance. So this is what she had come to! Shabby, hungry, running -about looking for work to support a blind husband. He could see before -him the kid in the sailor blouse, in Miss Waters’ studio....</p> - -<p>The girl he ought to have married. He could have spared her all this. It -was <i>his</i> fault, all of it his fault.</p> - -<h4>II</h4> - -<p><span class="smcap">They</span> were living in the same studio Rosaleen had once shared with Enid -and Dodo. And when Landry opened the door, he was rather impressed. -Perhaps he had unconsciously expected a garret and the blind man lying -on a pallet. And instead saw a large and imposingly artistic room, very -dark in the corners, but with a circle of light from a red-shaded lamp -on a table in the centre and Rosaleen and her husband sitting beside it. -The husband, too, was much better than he had expected; he was<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_191">{191}</a></span> really a -very gentlemanly chap, and a good talker; nothing pitiful or destitute -about him. One wouldn’t have suspected him of being blind. An immense, -fat fellow with a tremendous voice, and a somewhat broad sense of -humour. He talked to Landry about the opera, for that was the only form -of art with which the young man was acquainted. He had a very decent -cigar to offer him, and he mixed an excellent cocktail.</p> - -<p>Rosaleen, too, was different; she wore an embroidered smock of dark red -silk and she had bronze slippers and stockings, and her fine brown hair -was parted on one side and doubled under, to look like a short crop. -Landry thought she looked quite as an artist’s wife ought to look, and -charming, and adorable. She had scarcely said a word all the evening; -she had sat in silence while the two men talked, but he knew very well -that she wasn’t listening. She had an odd, preoccupied look in her eyes -which he later came to know very well....</p> - -<p>It was a mild and somewhat flavourless evening. When the time came for -him to go, the husband invited him to come to lunch the following -Saturday, and he had said that he would.</p> - -<p>He went home in a queer mood; he was, although he didn’t know it, -refusing to think at all, refusing to examine his impressions.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_192">{192}</a></span></p> - -<h4>III</h4> - -<p><span class="smcap">As</span> he was walking over from the bus that next Saturday, he met her -hurrying through Fourth Street, and he was really shocked at her -appearance. Even an artist’s wife ought to be a little more particular. -She was hatless, with felt bedroom slippers on her feet, and her arms -were filled with huge bundles from which protruded the feathery tops of -carrots and celery leaves. The gay April breeze was blowing her soft -untidy hair across her eyes, and at first she didn’t recognise him.</p> - -<p>“Oh, Mr. Landry!” she said. “Don’t <i>look</i> at me!... You shouldn’t come -so early...!”</p> - -<p>There was a very great change in her; a greater one than he had realised -before. She was not only thinner and paler and older looking; she was -different. That critical and childish look in her eyes had gone, that -air of an observer; she was no longer looking on at life, she was <i>in</i> -it, she was living.</p> - -<p>He took one of the immense bags and followed her upstairs.</p> - -<p>And the studio, too, was revealed to him in its reality; the artistic -glamour of it was gone in the daylight. In fact, it wasn’t a studio at -all; there was, crowded into one corner, a small table on which -Rosaleen’s drawing materials were neatly laid out<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_193">{193}</a></span> on a blotter, but the -other corners contained only sordid and common adjuncts to a -poverty-stricken life; a cheap little bureau covered with a paltry lace -scarf, a trunk masquerading as a table, a wooden egg crate in which were -dozens of tins of tomatoes, bought at a sale. The distinguished artist -himself was not what he had seemed; he was still handsome, still -debonair, but he was wearing a dirty collar and a soiled white apron -over a wrinkled suit. He was sitting beside a little gas stove on a -table, on which was superimposed a portable oven with a glass door, and -he was peering in with his extinguished eyes, so absorbed in his -watching that he had to make a visible effort to arouse himself and to -welcome Landry.</p> - -<p>“A la bonne heure!” he said, cordially. “I’ve made something which no -man with a soul could resist. It will be ready at one sharp. A Galette, -to be eaten hot, with a sauce of wine and cream. That, coffee of the -best, and a marvellous little salad.... Eh?”</p> - -<p>Landry answered without great enthusiasm; he wasn’t much interested in -food. And immediately the conversation languished, the animation fled -from Lawrence’s face; he became again crumpled and dejected, until -Rosaleen, who had been in the back room, returned and began asking him -questions about<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_194">{194}</a></span> the Galette. That started him; he talked and talked, -and his talk was all of food—about methods of preparation—a subject -upon which Landry was profoundly ignorant. The meals in his home were -plain and not greatly varied, meat, poultry and game roasted or broiled, -the more respectable vegetables, an unobtrusive salad, innocent milky -puddings, and those peculiar and delectable Southern hot breads. When he -ate in a restaurant he ordered very much the same things, and when he -was the guest of someone very rich who set rare dishes before him, he -didn’t quite know what he was eating and cared still less. Such an idea -as stuffing an eggplant with chopped liver seemed to him fantastic and -frivolous.</p> - -<p>The lunch was undoubtedly a good one, but it was ruined by Lawrence’s -interminable culinary talk. There was no chance for a word with -Rosaleen; she seemed to have no other idea in her head but to “draw out” -her tiresome husband, to encourage him to bore their guest beyond -toleration. Landry felt that this was hardly hospitable.</p> - -<p>At last he rose.</p> - -<p>“I’ll have to be going,” he said. “It’s after three, and I have an -engagement.”</p> - -<p>Lawrence shook his hand with tremendous cordiality.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_195">{195}</a></span></p> - -<p>“Come again!” he said. “Take pity on a man who has very little left in -life. Come often!”</p> - -<p>He turned toward Rosaleen, and Landry distinctly saw a look of -understanding pass between them which he didn’t like.</p> - -<p>“I’ll walk as far as the corner with you,” said Rosaleen. “I have an -errand.”</p> - -<p>And just as she was, she went out of the door with him. He stopped her -at the head of the stairs.</p> - -<p>“You shouldn’t go out in those slippers, Rosaleen! You’ll catch -cold....”</p> - -<p>“But that’s just where I’m going!” she answered, laughing. “To the -shoemaker’s to get my shoes. They’re being mended.”</p> - -<p>“But—” he began, and stopped.</p> - -<p>“But haven’t you more than one pair?” he had been about to say.</p> - -<p>He couldn’t endure to see her running about the streets like this, -hatless, in bedroom slippers, a neglected, pitiful creature who had lost -her womanly pride.</p> - -<p>All the circumstances of her life puzzled and displeased him. There was -something about it he couldn’t comprehend—that fat fellow with his -cooking, the strained gallantry of Rosaleen’s bearing, the subtly -unpleasant atmosphere which surrounded<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_196">{196}</a></span> them. Even poverty couldn’t -account for it, he thought.</p> - -<p>They had reached the corner, and Rosaleen stopped.</p> - -<p>“Mr. Landry!” she said. “Could you lend me ten dollars?”</p> - -<p>He pulled out his bill fold, handed her a bill, politely waved aside her -thanks, and fled, hurrying from the sight of her. He felt really sick, -with pity, with amazement, with an unconquerable disgust.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_197">{197}</a></span></p> - -<h3><a id="CHAPTER_TWO-c"></a>CHAPTER TWO</h3> - -<h4>I</h4> - -<p><span class="smcap">Ridiculous</span>! He had said that he wanted to help Rosaleen, and now, as -soon as he had a chance, he was horribly upset.</p> - -<p>He sat down that very evening and wrote her a note.</p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p> -“Dear Rosaleen:<br /> -</p> - -<p>“You must not be offended when I say that I have noticed that you -are in straitened circumstances. I hope you look upon me, as I look -upon you, as an old friend, and you must allow me the privilege of -helping you. Do not hesitate to tell me at any time if you think I -can be of use.</p> - -<p class="c"> -“Always faithfully your friend,<br /> -“Nicholas Landry.”<br /> -</p></div> - -<p>And he enclosed a cheque.</p> - -<p>When he had addressed and sealed the letter, he sat back in his chair -and contemplated his surroundings with a frown. He had been writing at a -little desk in the corner of the library; there beside the table in the -centre of the room sat his august and<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_198">{198}</a></span> benevolent aunt, in her discreet -black dinner gown, embroidering. Through the open door he could see -young Caroline in the next room sitting before the piano, hands idle in -her lap, her face upturned to the young man standing beside her.... It -hurt him intolerably. Now, when he would have been able to give to his -wife—not a setting quite so luxurious as this, but at least peace, -dignity, and comfort, he was compelled to see this beloved creature in -degrading and sordid poverty.</p> - -<p>He had done remarkably well. He had had a small legacy from an uncle. -His sister had whimpered a little when he refused to spare her the price -of one new dress from it, but she had soon been brought to approve his -severity. He had known where to place his money; it had gone into a -growing young firm of ship brokers, and himself with it, and he saw -ahead of him just the future he had planned.</p> - -<p>The financial future, that is. But not the home he had imagined. He was -not a man easily attracted by women; in fact, he rather disliked them. -He was not impressionable, not emotional; he was one of those absurd and -incredible creatures capable of loving one woman all through life. And -not through any conscious and pompous effort, either. He saw plainly -that he would never want anyone<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_199">{199}</a></span> but Rosaleen, and he saw, too, with -equal plainness, that he could not have her. The idea of intriguing to -win her from her husband never entered his head. He would not even say -to himself that he loved her; he simply said that he regretted her, -bitterly, profoundly. His point of view was either honourable or -sentimental, whichever way you choose to see it, but it was sincere. He -didn’t deceive himself; but he saw not the faintest danger of any -catastrophe. He knew he could trust himself to go on seeing Rosaleen, -just as he knew he could trust her. He was not at all afraid of this -woman who borrowed money from him. Instead, he said to himself—</p> - -<p>“Thank God I’ve got something to give her!”</p> - -<h4>II</h4> - -<p><span class="smcap">No</span> answer came to his letter; in fact, it was never answered and never -mentioned by either of them. The cheque dropped into that bottomless pit -which was their household exchequer.</p> - -<p>A week later he decided to stroll down to the Square, and perhaps to -visit Rosaleen.... It was a wonderful Spring evening, filled with that -cruel promise, that hope never defined, never fulfilled, that wayward -melancholy that is the spirit of every<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_200">{200}</a></span> such hour. It touched Landry -profoundly; the cries of the children at play sounded plaintive in his -ears; he even saw a futile pathos in the street lights that glowed so -blatantly against a sky not yet entirely darkened. There was a faint -breeze blowing, and in the little park the swelling branches of the bare -young trees swayed mildly.</p> - -<p>He went upstairs, to find the studio door open and a party going on, the -room crowded and turbulent. Lawrence recognised him at once, and -welcomed him with delight.</p> - -<p>“Just in time!” he cried. “Put your hat and stick in the back room and -come in and get a drink!”</p> - -<p>Still aloof and enchanted by the Spring night, Landry somewhat -reluctantly obeyed, and pushing aside the curtain, entered that private -apartment into which he had observed Rosaleen disappearing from time to -time. A horrible little black hole with nothing in it but a wide bed -with sagging springs that nearly touched the floor, and, all round the -walls, hooks upon which hung the motley clothes of the household. -Nothing else; no rug on the floor, nor a chair; evidently all the rest -of their earthly possessions had gone into the big studio.</p> - -<p>He laid his hat and stick on the ragged white counterpane, and returned -to the party. The key to the situation was not in his hands; he saw -none<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_201">{201}</a></span> of the pathos of it; he saw merely a crowd of noisy and vulgar -people who were drinking too much, making too much of a row, dancing -with abandon to the music of a wretched phonograph. Rosaleen hurried -about, an anxious hostess, changing records, filling glasses, talking to -this one and that; now and then she danced, but perfunctorily. No one -paid much attention to her. She wore the same dark red silk smock and -bronze slippers she had worn on the evening of his first visit, but by -the garish light of four gas jets, he could see now how worn and shabby -this finery was.</p> - -<p>But there was a great deal which he could not see. He could not see the -frightful fear of solitude in Lawrence’s heart which made him welcome -this riff-raff, these people who could be raked in at an hour’s notice, -lured by whiskey, by the perfect freedom allowed them. None of his old -friends came any more, or Rosaleen’s. They had lost their footing, and -they knew it well. But Lawrence didn’t care, so long as there was noise -and life about him, so long as he was not alone. And Rosaleen, in her -unbounded pity for him, would have watched devils dancing there with joy -if it had given him comfort.</p> - -<p>Landry was completely out of his element. He was really miserable. The -punch was not good, the floor was sticky, the girls were hectic and -peculiar;<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_202">{202}</a></span> he was very anxious to get away, but without offending -Rosaleen. He saw her hurry into the back room and, as he was standing -near the curtains, it was easy to slip in after her, unnoticed.</p> - -<p>“Rosaleen,” he began, but stopped in surprise. “Why are you putting on -your hat?”</p> - -<p>“I’m going out,” she said.</p> - -<p>“It’s nearly eleven. Where are you going?”</p> - -<p>“Oh!... To the delicatessen!” she cried, with the first trace of -irritability he had yet seen in her.</p> - -<p>“<i>Now?</i>”</p> - -<p>“Yes, now!” she cried, and he was amazed to see tears in her eyes. “Why -do you <i>bother</i> me so? Let me alone!”</p> - -<p>“I don’t want to bother you, Rosaleen,” he said. “But—if you’re going -alone, let me come.”</p> - -<p>“No,” she said. “You can’t. They’d all notice.”</p> - -<p>“Let them! You surely don’t care for the opinion of that crew! And -anyway, they’ll think I’ve gone home.”</p> - -<p>She had got her hat on now.</p> - -<p>“Come on, then!” she said, and led him through a door hidden by hanging -coats and wraps, into the hall.</p> - -<p>She went furiously fast, and they didn’t exchange a word all the way to -Sixth Avenue. She entered a brilliantly lighted shop with a white tiled -floor and<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_203">{203}</a></span> advanced to the high glass counter. And began ordering the -most amazing list—soap, bread, pickles, salad, cake, bacon. It made a -huge bundle. Landry tried to take it from her.</p> - -<p>“No!” she said. “You said you were going home!”</p> - -<p>“I’ll take you to the door first. Rosaleen, give me that package and -don’t be so disagreeable! What’s the trouble?”</p> - -<p>“I’m <i>tired</i>!” she said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be nasty, Mr. -Landry!”</p> - -<p>She let him take the bundle, and they began to retrace their steps.</p> - -<p>“You <i>are</i> an extraordinary girl!” he said. “I can’t understand you. Do -you always do your marketing a little before midnight?”</p> - -<p>“I do it when I can!” she answered, with a sigh. “When I can get the -money for it.”</p> - -<p>“But—” he began, but stopped short. Had she got the money at that -party? And from whom?</p> - -<h4>III</h4> - -<p><span class="smcap">He</span> couldn’t help talking about it. He began at breakfast the next -morning, to his aunt.</p> - -<p>“I’ve come across a very sad case,” he said. “Girl I used to know some -time ago. And now sh<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_204">{204}</a></span>e’s married to an artist—rather prominent in the -past, but now he’s going blind. And they’re as poor as possible. What -can you do to help, in a case like that?”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Allanby reflected.</p> - -<p>“Aren’t there societies, dear, to help needy artists?”</p> - -<p>“They don’t want charity!” he said, with his quick frown.</p> - -<p>“What <i>do</i> they want?”</p> - -<p>He regretted having brought up the subject now. But his aunt could not -be stopped.</p> - -<p>“Can’t the wife do something to help? Perhaps Ah could get someone -interested in the case. If you’ll give me the name and address, -Nick....”</p> - -<p>“No! That’s not what I meant. I wanted you to think of some way that <i>I</i> -could do something for them.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t suppose they’d care where the help came from, dear boy....”</p> - -<p>“But <i>I</i> would!” he said, angrily.</p> - -<p>“<i>You</i> would?” she said, and then was silent, with a tact a shade too -obvious. He was heartily sorry he had ever mentioned the thing.</p> - -<p>His food seemed to choke him, when he thought of Rosaleen in want. He -felt gross, decadent, pampered, when he thought of her running through<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_205">{205}</a></span> -the streets in her slippers, carrying immense packages. He began, -ridiculously, to deprive himself of things. It somehow gave him -consolation to make himself less comfortable.</p> - -<p>He wrote to her again, and enclosed a larger cheque. (He the prudent, -the practical!)</p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p> -“Dear Rosaleen:<br /> -</p> - -<p>“You must let me help you. If you won’t think of yourself, think of -others. You will wear yourself out, living like this. Tell me how I -can be of service.”</p></div> - -<p>This letter, too, was never answered, and when four days had gone by, he -decided to go down there and see for himself how things were going. It -was a bright, quiet Sunday and he had contemplated asking her to go for -a walk, so that they could have a serious talk. But he found Lawrence -sitting alone in the studio.</p> - -<p>“Rosaleen’s gone out,” he said. “I’m alone, and you can’t imagine how I -dislike being alone. Sit down and talk to me, won’t you? Of course I -quite realise that I’m not the magnet, and so on, but nevertheless.... -Eh?”</p> - -<p>In common decency, Nick was obliged to comply.</p> - -<p>“Do you know,” Lawrence went on, “one of the<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_206">{206}</a></span> worst things about this -thing is the monstrous jealousy it brings out. I’m jealous of Rosaleen. -Not as a husband, you understand; I’m not capable of that. I’ve never -been able to understand it. Why distress oneself so inordinately for the -frail creatures? Why not expect the worst? No, I’m jealous of her -because she can see and I can’t. And she doesn’t need to see.... I hate -her for it, sometimes.... Good God!... I’m growing worse and worse. -Everything is hazy now, as if there were a film over my eyes. -It—maddens me. I’m always trying to brush it away....”</p> - -<p>He groaned, and drew his hand across his forehead.</p> - -<p>“Let me grumble, young man!” he said. “Try to listen to me with a little -human compassion. Try to think what it means—not to <i>see</i>.”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said Landry. “I knew two or three chaps in the army....”</p> - -<p>“Oh, asses! Young, healthy lustful animals, filled with their illusion -that they’ve saved the world with their blindness. But <i>me</i>! What -comfort have I? Landry, if I were God Himself, I couldn’t invent -anything more exquisitely hideous than that—to make an <i>artist</i> blind! -An artist, who lives—who feeds himself on colour, whose ecstasy is in a -line,<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_207">{207}</a></span> whose heart and soul are only to be reached through his eyes.... -What an idea, eh?”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said Landry. “It must be pretty bad.”</p> - -<p>But still he couldn’t help feeling more sorry for those young chaps he -had known, blinded in the war, who had had to renounce all the pleasant -ways of life. A fellow like Lawrence, with a brain, a fellow who could -<i>talk</i>, didn’t, somehow, seem as pitiful to him as those inarticulate, -suffering boys. Lawrence was queer, he was eccentric, and he no doubt -had queer and eccentric consolations unknown to those others. He -sympathised with Lawrence; certainly. But his mind strayed to Rosaleen.</p> - -<p>Where had she gone? And with whom? He thought about it with growing -uneasiness. At last he took the bull by the horns.</p> - -<p>“Where has Rosaleen gone?” he asked, in a tone as Bohemian and casual as -he could make it.</p> - -<p>“With a new man,” said Lawrence. “A gentlemanly illustrator. Ah, -well!... What can one expect?”</p> - -<p>Just as Lawrence was beginning one of his terrible dissertations on -cooking, there was a knock at the door, and a curly haired young man -entered. He asked for Rosaleen without ceremony.</p> - -<p>“Out with Brindell, taking a walk,” said Lawrence. “Sit down, Matthews, -and have a drink!<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_208">{208}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>His manner was a curious blend of contempt and a terribly anxious -hospitality. He despised these two young men, but he wished above all -things to keep them there to talk to. Ambrose Matthews was a little more -to his liking than Landry; he was able to see his point of view, and to -discuss in all its subtle intricacies the anguish of the unfortunate -artist. This never failed to astound Landry. He didn’t see what possible -comfort it could be to Lawrence to dissect his sufferings, to describe -so vividly as to re-live his most horrible moments.</p> - -<p>“I should think you’d rather try to forget it,” he observed, rather -bluntly.</p> - -<p>Ambrose Matthews explained.</p> - -<p>“My dear fellow, that’s the worst possible course. To repress, to -conceal, and all that sort of thing.... What we need is to drag -everything out into the sunlight. There the weeds will perish and the -hardy plants thrive.”</p> - -<p>“Sunlight doesn’t kill weeds,” said Lawrence. “I don’t talk for the -benefit of my psyche, or my subconscious self, or my soul; I talk -because it interests me.”</p> - -<p>Landry got up.</p> - -<p>“I’ll have to be getting along!” he said. “Will you tell Rosaleen I’m -sorry I missed her?... Is there anything I can do for you before I go?<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_209">{209}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“You might run in next door and get me a package of cigarettes,” said -Lawrence. “I’ve begun to smoke.”</p> - -<p>Resentful and sulky, Landry did this, and when he returned with them, he -found Ambrose Matthews waiting for him.</p> - -<p>“I’ll walk a part of the way with you,” he said, and, as was his habit, -took his companion’s arm.</p> - -<p>“You haven’t seen Rosaleen’s latest, have you?” he asked.</p> - -<p>“Latest what?” demanded Landry, stiffly.</p> - -<p>“Latest—I don’t know what to call us. Latest One to Be Borrowed From. -He’s the fifth, to my knowledge. And why do we do it? She’s not even -grateful. It’s an interesting case.”</p> - -<p>Landry withdrew his arm, under the pretext of lighting a cigarette.</p> - -<p>“Not so interesting for <i>her</i>,” he said. “Poor girl!”</p> - -<p>“It’s a sort of perverted sex instinct,” said Ambrose. “Her training has -been so repressive that she’s afraid to accept love, so she substitutes -money——”</p> - -<p>“Rot!” said Landry, violently. “It’s nothing but an ‘instinct’ to get -something to eat for herself and her husband.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_210">{210}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>Then Ambrose said that it was perhaps a perverted maternal instinct.</p> - -<p>“She ought to have had children,” he said. “As it is, she lavishes on -him the maternal love she would have given to them.”</p> - -<p>“She’s not perverted at all,” said Landry. “What you choose to call -perverted is what <i>I</i> call—good.”</p> - -<h4>IV</h4> - -<p><span class="smcap">But</span> it worried him frightfully. He made up his mind to remonstrate with -Rosaleen, and he wrote her another note.</p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p>“Will you meet me at the Ritz at four to-morrow? I want to talk to -you alone for a few minutes, please.”</p></div> - -<p>At breakfast the next morning came her answer.</p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p>“Dear Mr. Landry: Please don’t ask me to do that. I never do. You -can always see me here whenever you like.</p> - -<p class="r"> -R. I.”<br /> -</p></div> - -<p>This astonished him. He hadn’t expected any objection. He felt suddenly -desolate and unhappy;<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_211">{211}</a></span> he felt that he was not Rosaleen’s own particular -friend, who could be permitted all privileges; she was treating him as -she would any man; he was simply one of a crowd....</p> - -<p>But he went, that same evening. The studio was crowded with people, most -of whom he had seen there before. But there was one man whom he did not -know, but whom he knew must be the gentlemanly illustrator. A -well-dressed, nice-looking young chap, with a silent air of observing, -not too favourably, all that went on before him. And his eyes followed -Rosaleen all the time, and for her and her only he had a quick and -subtle smile.</p> - -<p>A feeling which he refused to recognise took possession of Landry, a -rage that shook the very foundation of his self-control. He went over to -the corner where they stood talking.</p> - -<p>“You promised to talk to me alone!” he said, with a manner he had never -used before in his life—an outrageous insolence. “Come out and walk -round the park, will you?”</p> - -<p>Brindell looked at him, at first astonished, and then very angry.</p> - -<p>“Who the devil is <i>this</i>?” he asked, turning to Rosaleen.</p> - -<p>“An old, old friend,” said Rosaleen, hastily. “Ex<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_212">{212}</a></span>cuse me, please, Mr. -Brindell, just for a few minutes?”</p> - -<p>“Come on! Put on your hat and coat!” said Landry.</p> - -<p>Rosaleen shook her head.</p> - -<p>“No; we can talk in here,” she said, and led him into the back room. -“Mr. Landry, what made you so rude?”</p> - -<p>“Do you borrow money from that—popinjay?” he demanded.</p> - -<p>He was glad to see the shocked colour that rose in her thin face; he -wanted and intended to be outrageous.</p> - -<p>“You—haven’t any right to talk like that!” she cried. “I——”</p> - -<p>“I have. I’ve lent you money. You’re under obligations to me.... I -<i>won’t have</i> you doing this! Haven’t you any pride? Any self-respect?”</p> - -<p>“Hush! Don’t talk so loud!... Oh, Mr. Landry, how <i>can</i> you!”</p> - -<p>“Haven’t you any decency?” he went on, furiously. “You’re common talk, -you and your ‘friends.’ I’m ashamed of you!”</p> - -<p>“Mr. Landry!” she cried, amazed. “What’s the matter with you?”</p> - -<p>“I’m disgusted!” he said. “I’m....”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page_213">{213}</a></span></p><p>He looked at her, standing before him, the harassed and solitary -creature who had endured so much, who suffered such indignities without -being overwhelmed. There she was, in her mountebank costume, her red -smock, her bronze slippers, with her pale and anxious face.... He -thought of the complexity, the mystery of these dealings she had had -with men, and he hated her.</p> - -<p>“I’m <i>through</i> with you!” he said.</p> - -<p>He pulled down his hat from the hook where he always left it, and opened -the door into the hall.</p> - -<p>“No!... Mr. Landry!” she whispered, clutching at his coat. “Don’t! -Please don’t go like this!”</p> - -<p>But he looked at her with a glance so scornful and full of loathing that -she dropped her hands hastily.</p> - -<p>But before he had got to the street door, she came running down the -stairs after him; he heard the clop-clop of her slippers, which were too -large and left her foot at every step.</p> - -<p>“Mr. Landry!” she cried. “Please!... I don’t want you to misjudge me.... -I thought you would understand!”</p> - -<p>“I don’t!” he said, briefly.</p> - -<p>“But what else can I do? How can we live?”</p> - -<p>“Does your husband know that you do—this?”</p> - -<p>“Of course!” she cried, astonished. “He’s the one who—he asks me to.”</p> - -<p>They were standing outside the door of what had<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_214">{214}</a></span> been Lawrence’s old -studio; the hall was entirely dark; he couldn’t see her at all. That -made her voice seem quite different; it reached him a disembodied sound, -miraculously sad.</p> - -<p>“I never meant to tell anyone,” she said. “But now I’d like to tell you. -It’s wrong. It’s weak. I ought just to do what I think right and not -care if I <i>am</i> misunderstood. But I can’t.”</p> - -<p>She was still a moment.</p> - -<p>“Let’s go into the tea room downstairs. Miss Gosorkus is upstairs and I -don’t think there’ll be anyone there.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_215">{215}</a></span>”</p> - -<h3><a id="CHAPTER_THREE-c"></a>CHAPTER THREE</h3> - -<h4>I</h4> - -<p><span class="smcap">They</span> sat there for hours, at a tiny table, in a corner of the dimly -lighted shop, crowded with miscellaneous objects, embroidered smocks, -brass candlesticks, pictures, books, curios, baskets. The red curtains -were drawn across the windows, the door was closed; they were -undisturbed, isolated during the course of that most pathetic of human -struggles—that forever unsuccessful effort of one soul to explain -itself to another. With utter earnestness, sincerity, with justice and -compassion for Lawrence, Rosaleen tried to give Landry the story of her -marriage. She had only one motive—that this man should not think her -worse than she was. She felt that if he could be brought to see <i>why</i> -she had done this and that, he would no longer blame her. She wished to -make him see how inevitable it had all been.</p> - -<p>She began with the day that Lawrence had come to her room to kill -himself. She and Miss Waters had tended him with frightened assiduity -all the afternoon, but in vain. His malady was beyond their reach. His -malady was despair. He had been<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_216">{216}</a></span> through an experience that day which -had wrecked his soul. The doctor had told him that he was going blind, -and that nothing could prevent it.</p> - -<p>Terror had seized him. He had thought at once of the only person he knew -who was capable of sustained and disinterested kindness, and he had fled -to Rosaleen, to die in her compassionate presence. His attempt, however, -wasn’t successful, whether from lack of knowledge or from reluctance -even he himself never knew. He hadn’t really harmed himself at all; the -blood-letting seemed in fact to make him feel better, to clear his -brain. He could perfectly well have got up and walked off at any moment, -but he preferred to lie with closed eyes, savouring his anguish. And -permitting an exquisite sense of consolation to creep into his soul.</p> - -<p>Rosaleen and Miss Waters worked desperately over him; they washed his -face with cold water again and again. They made tea for him, and toast, -and the smell of the toast revived him. He ate it, mournfully, still -with his eyes closed. They bathed his forehead with Rosaleen’s cherished -“Florida water.” Once Miss Waters laid her cottony-white head on his -chest, to listen to his heart, but being too modest to unbutton his -waistcoat, she didn’t obtain much information. However, she knew it was -the thing to do, and it impressed Rosaleen.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_217">{217}</a></span></p> - -<p>He lay there for two days; a most embarrassing situation. Miss Waters -came to stop with Rosaleen, and they slept on the floor of the studio, -because Rosaleen said it might make him think he was causing trouble if -they pulled the other cot out of the room where he lay. The thought of -causing trouble, however, was not one of Lawrence’s worries. He would -wake up in the night and groan, so horribly that Rosaleen and Miss -Waters would cling to each other and weep. He asked for wines and -delicacies which they could ill afford. But his selfishness made him all -the more appealing to Rosaleen.</p> - -<p>On the third day, late in the afternoon, he got up, bathed, shaved, and -dressed. Rosaleen disposed him in the wing chair, and went to the corner -to fetch cigarettes for him.</p> - -<p>“What would you like for dinner?” she asked.</p> - -<p>He said he didn’t care; anything nice....</p> - -<p>“Won’t you take something now?” she entreated. “A nice hot cup of -cocoa?”</p> - -<p>“No; not cocoa.”</p> - -<p>He sighed and once more closed his eyes, which frightened Rosaleen.</p> - -<p>“What <i>can</i> I do for you?” she asked.</p> - -<p>“Stay near me!” he said. “Don’t leave me alone!<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_218">{218}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“Of course I won’t!” she answered.</p> - -<p>He stayed there in the studio for nearly three weeks, sitting about in -his dressing gown, smoking and reading. One day he ordered a taxi and -sent Rosaleen to the flat where he had been living, to fetch him a long -list of things, including his painting materials, and when she returned, -he set up his easel and began to work.</p> - -<p>“I may have six months more, you know,” he said. “I can see almost as -well as ever now. The colours aren’t quite so clear, perhaps....”</p> - -<p>Rosaleen was delighted to see him taking an interest in something; she -had for so long looked upon him as an invalid, almost unable to move, -for whose recovery she was more or less responsible. She felt that this -new interest in his work might serve to rouse him from that apathy which -so distressed and alarmed her. She sat watching him, with affection, -with admiration. He was singing to himself, in a deep, growling basso, -and working just as she had seen him working in his studio -downstairs.... When suddenly he flung down the brushes and fell on his -knees, so heavily that the room shook.</p> - -<p>“Oh, my God!” he cried. “I can’t bear it! I can’t live!... It’s going -<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_219">{219}</a></span>from me!... Oh, let me die! Let me die...!”</p> - -<p>She had rushed across the room and was on her knees beside him.</p> - -<p>“Lawrence!” she cried. “Dear Lawrence! Don’t give way! Don’t take it so -hard! They say that bl—that people who can’t see are very happy. You’ll -find other things—all <i>sorts</i> of other things—to interest you!”</p> - -<p>“Be quiet!” he cried, sternly. “Don’t dare to tell me such things!”</p> - -<p>He rose heavily to his feet and went over to the window.</p> - -<p>“If it had come at once!” he said. “If everything had been blotted out -at one stroke, I could have endured it.... But to see it coming on, to -know what’s going to happen.... No!” he cried, suddenly. “I <i>won’t</i> -stand it! I won’t try!”</p> - -<p>For weeks Rosaleen had no other thought but to try to comfort him. She -was glad to use what remained of her five hundred dollars to buy him the -things he wanted. His tastes were luxurious, above all, in matters of -eating and drinking; he liked quail or sweetbreads for breakfast, and -for dinner exotic things of which she had never heard before. And he -wished a glass of good white port every day with his lunch. And what he -asked for she got, if it were in any way possible.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_220">{220}</a></span></p> - -<h4>II</h4> - -<p><span class="smcap">She</span> made no attempt to explain to Landry her reasons for marrying -Lawrence. It had been with her purely a spiritual matter, a valiant -effort at consoling him. The material aspects of the thing didn’t -trouble her; she didn’t even regard it as a sacrifice. She knew that she -didn’t love him as she had loved Nick Landry; she had felt for him only -that kindly affection she was ready to feel for any human creature. But -she believed that in marrying him she would be doing something worthy, -something of use; that she would be serving God.</p> - -<p>Lawrence didn’t know this; he honestly believed that Lawrence Iverson, -even if he were blind and penniless, was a brilliant match for Rosaleen.</p> - -<p>They were married at City Hall, with no friend present except Miss -Waters, who wept all the time, and they went back to the studio, to take -up their joint life there without any sort of festivity, any -celebration. Lawrence had said that he could not stand it, that he was -in no mood for that sort of thing; but as a matter of fact, he was -ashamed of Rosaleen. He would have been proud to be her lover, but he -was ashamed to be her husband. He didn’t mention that he was married to -anyone; there were no announcements sent out, no notice in the<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_221">{221}</a></span> paper. -No one sent a present, except Miss Waters; no one came to call upon -Rosaleen.</p> - -<p>Lawrence had been just emerging from Bohemianism to the respectability -of success. He had lived with order and comfort; he had been invited -about, flattered, more or less “lionized.” But he was not yet really -established; he had no solid footing in that upper world, that “society” -he so worshipped. He had no prestige to give Rosaleen, even if he had -wished to do so. As a matter of fact, he carefully concealed the fact of -his marriage from all these people.</p> - -<p>The first invitation he got after the wedding was to a tea.</p> - -<p>“You haven’t got anything suitable to wear,” he told her. “I’ll have to -go alone.”</p> - -<p>After establishing this precedent, he found it quite easy. He never -suggested her accompanying him.</p> - -<p>He was still fairly nice to Rosaleen in those days, although he was -beginning to grow exasperated with her. She insisted upon being always -his servant; never his friend, his comrade. She was always constrained; -she never talked freely about what interested her; instead she was -forever anxious to hearten and encourage Lawrence, to “draw him out”; -she pretended to be interested in what interested him. He knew that she -was prepared to endure<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_222">{222}</a></span> everything, to forgive everything, out of -compassion, and it was intolerable. He could never reach her; he could -never make any sort of impression upon her; the coarsest talk made no -stain on her heart, no evil knowledge could disturb her; she was -incorruptible, by reason of her divine stupidity.</p> - -<p>His gentleness vanished; he allowed himself to be as irritable as he -pleased. He could still see well enough, but he had been forbidden to -use his eyes, and he was like a caged animal. He used to walk up and -down the studio, groaning.</p> - -<p>“How are we going to live?” he demanded, one day.</p> - -<p>“I think I can get work,” said Rosaleen, promptly, “if you won’t mind -being left alone part of the time?”</p> - -<p>“Do it then! Do it!” he cried.</p> - -<p>She tried, she tried faithfully, but her work was no longer good. She -was too anxious to please. A blight had settled on her, her fancy was -destroyed, her developing facility with her pencil was checked, and she -had not had sufficient experience to go on without thought or effort, -like a machine. She made next to nothing; and the day came, inevitably, -when there was no money left. Lawrence had come home from somewhere in a -taxi, and there hadn’t been<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_223">{223}</a></span> enough in his pocket to pay the tariff. He -had come upstairs to ask Rosaleen for three dollars.</p> - -<p>She had handed him a five dollar bill.</p> - -<p>“It’s all I have,” she said. “All I have to buy dinner with....”</p> - -<p>“<i>What!</i>” he bellowed. “No more? What do you do with what you earn? Eh?”</p> - -<p>“I don’t earn very much, Lawrence. And I use it to pay for things——”</p> - -<p>He went down and paid the chauffeur. Then he re-entered the room and -went over to the table where she was working. He snatched up the card -she had been painting—three fat robins on a telephone wire, with nine -gold bells underneath bearing the letters of <span class="smcap">Merry Xmas</span>.</p> - -<p>“Painting?” he said. “<i>This is painting</i>, eh? Good God!... <i>This</i> going -on in the room with <i>me</i>!... Rosaleen, you are no longer an artist. It’s -too blasphemous!”</p> - -<p>He picked up her four cherished camel’s hair brushes and snapped them -into bits; then he tore up her cards and took up all the debris he had -made, together with her paint box and her blocks of paper, and threw it -all out of the window.</p> - -<p>“Finished!” he said. “Go back to your pots and pans, wench, and leave -such matters to your betters!<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_224">{224}</a></span>”</p> - -<h4>III</h4> - -<p><span class="smcap">It</span> had seemed to her sometimes that he was not a human being at all. She -was not able to tell what was buffoonery and what was real. If there -were anything real in him.... It filled her with despair; she wondered -if she had really done him any good. And when she doubted that, there -was no foundation left for her life. If it hadn’t helped him, then all -her misery was in vain, the terrible years which stretched before her -would be filled with a pain quite useless, quite barren.</p> - -<p>Her health began to fail. The irregular life, the fantastic meals -Lawrence insisted upon, the noisy parties which kept her up night after -night until almost dawn, the unceasing anxiety and unhappiness were too -much for her. She did her very best; she was kind, patient, and loyal; -she struggled to stifle her dreadful regrets, her disillusionment, she -clung desperately to the one belief that kept her from absolute despair, -the belief that she was indispensable, that Lawrence needed her and -could not do without her.</p> - -<p>He had singularly few friends. He knew almost every artist of -reputation, but casually. He had been engrossed in his desire to enter -society, and he hadn’t troubled much with his colleagues. His chief<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_225">{225}</a></span> -object in “entering society” had been to find a rich wife; and although -he knew that any such thing would now have been impossible, still he -blamed Rosaleen in his heart.</p> - -<p>At last he had started this infernal “borrowing.” And Rosaleen had -consented. It outraged her pride, her self-respect, her dignity; but it -didn’t seem <i>wicked</i> to her. She thought that perhaps it was her duty to -sacrifice this pride and self-respect for the sake of her husband. One -man after the other....</p> - -<p>Landry interrupted her.</p> - -<p>“Didn’t they ever make love to you?” he asked, brutally. “Didn’t they -expect anything in return? Or were they all fools—like me?”</p> - -<p>“I hardly <i>know</i>!” she said, wearily. “I never bothered.... I only had -to get money....”</p> - -<p>“Which you knew you couldn’t repay. That didn’t bother you either, did -it?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, it did! But I always hoped and hoped that some day I could, in -some way. Mr. Landry, what was I to <i>do</i>?”</p> - -<p>“There are women who’d rather die than be dishonourable.”</p> - -<p>Her pale face flushed again.</p> - -<p>“I wouldn’t have done it for myself,” she said. “I wouldn’t have thought -of such a thing.... But I <i>couldn’t</i> let Lawrence want!<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_226">{226}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>Landry stood up.</p> - -<p>“Listen to me, Rosaleen!” he said. “There’s just one hope for you. -Either you leave this demoralising, degrading atmosphere at -once—or——”</p> - -<p>“Or what?” she asked, with interest.</p> - -<p>“Or else I’m done with you.”</p> - -<p>She shook her head sadly.</p> - -<p>“No,” she said. “It’s no use talking like that. I shouldn’t dream of -leaving him, ever. I only wanted you to understand. I couldn’t bear for -you not to. But I see that you don’t. Do you, Mr. Landry?”</p> - -<p>“I don’t know!” he said, miserably.</p> - -<p>They were silent for a very long time. The ceiling shook from the -dancing feet in the studio overhead, but no sound reached them. They -were completely isolated in there, behind the drawn red curtains. At -last Rosaleen looked up.</p> - -<p>“<i>Anyway</i>,” she said. “I think the best thing is—not to see each other -any more.”</p> - -<p>She waited.</p> - -<p>“Don’t <i>you</i>?” she asked.</p> - -<p>He regarded her, the unhappy wife, the victim of so many peoples’ -selfishness, and it suddenly occurred to him that after all, she wasn’t -much more than a young girl. Only twenty-four.... The thought startled -him. She was so young, so friend<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_227">{227}</a></span>less, and yet so strong. She hadn’t -gone under, she was not destroyed. What did that wretched “borrowing” -amount to anyway? How had he dared reproach her with it?... He felt as -if he could never take his eyes from that worn face, with its beautiful -honesty and benevolence. After all, there must be some force in her -forlorn youth that was greater than intellect, more irresistible than -beauty, something indestructible, beyond his comprehension....</p> - -<p>He turned away, dazzled by his vision.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” he said. “It <i>is</i> best!<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_228">{228}</a></span>”</p> - -<h3><a id="CHAPTER_FOUR-c"></a>CHAPTER FOUR</h3> - -<h4>I</h4> - -<p><span class="smcap">Rosaleen</span> went upstairs to the studio, where the party was still going -on. It didn’t seem possible; she felt as if days had gone by, almost as -if she were a ghost coming back from another world. Nothing had -happened, and yet everything had changed. Still the same row, the same -love-making, the same hectic gaiety. Apparently no one had noticed her -hours’ absence; she didn’t count, anyway, except to Mr. Brindell, and he -had long ago gone home.</p> - -<p>She went on with her superfluous hospitality. She was neither sleepy nor -tired, nor was she in any way annoyed by the prolongation of the party. -She was willing to continue indefinitely, winding up the phonograph, -filling glasses, now and then dancing with a solitary man; she was in a -waking dream, completely indifferent to the real world about her.</p> - -<h4>II</h4> - -<p><span class="smcap">Lawrence</span> was sleeping soundly. Very cautiously Rosaleen got up and -barefooted made her<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_229">{229}</a></span> way across the dusty floor of the studio to a chair -near the window.</p> - -<p>It was very early, not yet five o’clock; before her lay the Square, -lonely and calm under a pallid sky across which filmy white clouds went -flying. She could see, faintly, the strong white arch and beyond it the -long, misty avenue, where the rows and rows of lights still gleamed. Her -mind was working rapidly and futilely, spinning like a wheel in a void. -She saw everything, observed everything, with remarkable vividness. She -heard two men’s voices come suddenly out of the early morning quiet, -talking loudly in Italian, they began abruptly, from nowhere, with a -ringing sound of footsteps; they disappeared as abruptly and left the -square as quiet as before.</p> - -<p>Yes; of course! It was Nick Landry she wanted to think about, that dear -boy with his quiet laugh that was balm to her soul after the sneers, the -guffaws, the hysteric shrieks she was obliged to hear every day. Nick -with his fastidious ways, his reserve so like her own, with his divine -youth.... She recalled with a smile his lean, dark face, his quick -frown, his voice, his gestures. She allowed herself to dwell upon him, -to think of him with undisguised tenderness and pain, because it was her -farewell to him. He was like herself. He would<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_230">{230}</a></span> not come any more. He -was like herself; they would not meet again; he felt as she did, about -this, and about all other things. The <i>difference</i> between him and all -these others with their Right to Love, their Right to Happiness, their -Right to One’s Own Life! Both Nick and herself considered above all the -Right of Other People to exist unmolested—Lawrence’s Rights, for -instance....</p> - -<p>Lawrence had shouted with laughter over those cheques from Nick. He had -called him a sentimentalist. He said, and Ambrose Matthews said, and -Enid said, and so many of the others said, that sentimentality was the -curse of the world; that muddle-headed, unreasoning sentimentality was -what ruined people’s lives. That the thing to be desired, the great -panacea, was clear-sightedness, was enlightened self-interest. And yet -Lawrence existed through her sentimentality and that of the -good-humoured fellows who had lent their money. It was sentimentality -which had caused Nick to help them, which now caused them to part....</p> - -<p>Rosaleen observed that this fiercely scorned and detested sentimentality -very often caused people to act with the greatest nobility. While -common-sense and enlightened self-interest seemed frequently to bring -forth incredible baseness.</p> - -<p>She thought of things quite new to her; she saw<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_231">{231}</a></span> life in a new, a larger -way. She saw the desolate and bitter goal toward which her road led; and -she was ready to set out on that road. It was the high moment of her -life. It was the great triumph of her spirit, so horribly wounded, so -valiant.</p> - -<p class="cdtts">. . . . . . . . . .</p> - -<p>She was startled by the harsh voice of Lawrence, and turning she saw him -standing in the doorway of the back room, in his dressing gown.</p> - -<p>“What the devil are you doing?” he asked. “Why did you get up at this -time? It’s just struck five.”</p> - -<p>“Nothing,” said Rosaleen. “Just—thinking. I couldn’t get to sleep -again. I thought I’d like to sit by the window and get some air....”</p> - -<p>He laughed.</p> - -<p>“I see!” he said. “Well, it’s as good a time as any other for a little -chat—a little explanation.”</p> - -<p>He groped his way in and sat down.</p> - -<p>“Now, then!” he said. “Suppose you tell me where you went with that -fellow last evening, eh?”</p> - -<p>She was startled. She hadn’t thought he had noticed. He had said -nothing, even when all the people had gone and they were alone together.</p> - -<p>“Oh.... Just downstairs to the tea room!”</p> - -<p>“And why?<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_232">{232}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“Oh ... to talk quietly!”</p> - -<p>“To borrow money?”</p> - -<p>“No.”</p> - -<p>“Why not? We have nothing in the house. Why didn’t you borrow?”</p> - -<p>“I—didn’t want to.”</p> - -<p>“Why not? Has the worm turned?”</p> - -<p>“I didn’t ask him.”</p> - -<p>“Just philandering, eh? Noble, high-minded philandering? A few tears and -so on, for him to pity you? So that he’ll pay without being asked? -Hypocrite! Coward! Oh, you cheap, cheap worthless little coward!”</p> - -<p>“Lawrence!” she said. “Don’t be so unkind!”</p> - -<p>“You’re not unkind, are you? Eh? You try to make a fool of me in the -most charitable possible way. Eh? It doesn’t touch my heart, fair -Rosaleen, because I don’t care a fig for you, but I have still a vestige -of pride left! Enough to <i>curse</i> you!” he ended, with sudden ferocity.</p> - -<p>“Lawrence! You musn’t say that! You know I don’t make a—You know that -I’m—loyal to you, always.”</p> - -<p>“You lie. You sit there and tell that puppy how badly I treat you. He -thinks you’re a martyr and I’m a bully. I’ve seen it this long time. The -next time you see him you’ll recount <i>this</i> scene, eh?”</p> - -<p>“He’s gone. I’m not going to see him again.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_233">{233}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>He laughed again.</p> - -<p>“Gone, eh? Why? He got sick of you, I suppose. Who wouldn’t?”</p> - -<p>“He <i>didn’t</i> get sick of me!” said Rosaleen, quietly, but with a -quivering lip.</p> - -<p>“Ah!... Of course not!... He thought it was his duty to go? That’s the -way those good little boys get themselves out of an awkward situation.”</p> - -<p>“No!” said Rosaleen. “I—wanted him to go.”</p> - -<p>“But it wasn’t <i>very</i> hard to get rid of him, was it?”</p> - -<p>“Yes! Yes! It was!” she cried.</p> - -<p>“Then why did you do it, may I ask? His money was extremely useful.”</p> - -<p>“Lawrence!” she cried, in a sort of despair. “Don’t you realise that all -people aren’t—like that? Don’t you know that there are some <i>good</i> -people?”</p> - -<p>“You mean yourself, I take it. You want me to realise how much better -you are than me? Is that the idea?”</p> - -<p>“No,” she said. “I didn’t mean myself. I meant him ... Mr. Landry. There -<i>are</i>—good people. <i>He</i> is good.”</p> - -<p>“Do you love him?”</p> - -<p>She was amazed and shocked.</p> - -<p>“Do you?” he asked again.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_234">{234}</a></span></p> - -<p>She thought for a moment, and then she said, “No!” For it was not the -love Lawrence meant.</p> - -<p>“Do you love <i>me</i>?”</p> - -<p>“I—I don’t know, Lawrence....”</p> - -<p>“Then why, may I ask, do you stay with me?”</p> - -<p>“I—because I—want to do what is right. I want to be—loyal.... I want -to—to help you.”</p> - -<p>“You don’t. You’re not really any use at all. You’re so slow and -thick-witted. You can’t even make a living. You borrow money for me, it -is true, but that’s not so hard. I could do that better alone. I’ve only -endured you out of pity, because if I turned you out, you’d starve to -death—or, as they say in the books—you would meet with ‘worse than -death.’ You’ve no character.”</p> - -<p>“You’re going too far!” she cried. “I can’t stand everything!”</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes, you can! Instead of pride, you’ve got your sanctimonious -self-satisfaction. You cry instead of hitting back.”</p> - -<p>She clenched her hands and stood, with blazing cheeks, and passionately -beating heart, fighting to keep silent.</p> - -<p>“I <i>won’t</i> hurt him!” she told herself. “He’s blind and lonely. No -matter what he says, I’ll remember that I’m all he has in the world, and -that he needs me. I <i>won’t</i> say anything that will hurt him!<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_235">{235}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“What are you doing now?” he asked. “Praying? That’s right. Pray for a -pure heart and then ask for a little money, while you’re about it.”</p> - -<p>There was a long pause.</p> - -<p>“Well,” she said cheerfully, at last. “Let’s not quarrel, Lawrence! -Shall we have breakfast?”</p> - -<p>“A little less of the martyr, if you don’t mind. I suppose it’s as -refreshing as a Turkish bath, isn’t it, to feel that you’ve given up all -for duty?”</p> - -<p>“But I don’t like it!” he cried, suddenly, in a voice that startled her. -“Your renunciations and your nobilities and your resignations, and all -the rest of your bag of tricks, nauseate me. I don’t really believe I -can stand you any more.”</p> - -<p>He lumbered over to the window and threw it open. Rosaleen flung herself -upon him in terror, imagining that he was going to throw himself out. -But he pushed her away violently.</p> - -<p>“Taxi!” he bawled, in a voice that reverberated through the street. -“Taxi!”</p> - -<p>The horrible, bellowing voice filled Rosaleen with panic fear.</p> - -<p>“Please, <i>please</i> don’t!” she entreated. “Please, please, please don’t! -Lawrence! I’ll telephone for a cab! Oh, <i>please</i> do come in!”</p> - -<p>But he bawled again.</p> - -<p>“Taxi!<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_236">{236}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>And a voice below answered him.</p> - -<p>“Hey! Keep calm! Here y’are!”</p> - -<p>“Wait!” said Lawrence, and drew himself into the room again.</p> - -<p>“Lawrence, what are you going to do!” she cried.</p> - -<p>“Get dressed!” he said, “and be quick about it!”</p> - -<p>She began to put on her clothes with cold and trembling hands. By the -time she had finished, he was quite dressed and fumbling at the familiar -hook for his overcoat and hat. Then he pulled down Rosaleen’s jacket.</p> - -<p>“Here!” he said. “Put this on!”</p> - -<p>“Oh, Lawrence!” she cried. “What——”</p> - -<p>He lurched over to her and flung the jacket round her shoulders, and -grasped her fiercely by the arm.</p> - -<p>“Come on!” he said, with a laugh.</p> - -<p>“Where?” she cried, but he did not answer.</p> - -<p>He shut her into the cab, and spoke in a low tone to the driver; then he -climbed in beside her, and they started off.</p> - -<p>“Lawrence!” she entreated. “Don’t do anything you’ll be sorry for! -Please, Lawrence, tell me where we’re going!”</p> - -<p>But he never said a word. He lighted a cigar and leaned back, smoking, -with a smile on his face.</p> - -<p>She shook him frantically, she implored him; a<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_237">{237}</a></span> great terror had taken -possession of her. She tried to open the door and jump out; she didn’t -care if she were killed, so long as she could escape from this horribly -smiling man. But he pulled her back with an oath.</p> - -<p>They went on and on; she didn’t notice where. At last they stopped -before a house and Lawrence got out, pulling her after him; he stumbled -up the steps and rang the bell. He stood there waiting, still grasping -Rosaleen by the arm, hatless, shivering in the cold mist. At last the -door was opened by a servant.</p> - -<p>“Here’s a lady to see Mr. Landry!” cried Lawrence, and with a push he -sent Rosaleen stumbling inside. Then——</p> - -<p>“I give you back your sacrifice!” he called, with a laugh, and was gone, -slamming the door behind him. She could hear him shouting with laughter -all the way down the steps.</p> - -<h4>III</h4> - -<p><span class="smcap">Rosaleen</span> stood where she had fallen against the hat rack, while the maid -stared at her. She couldn’t speak or move; it came across her mind that -perhaps she was dying....<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_238">{238}</a></span></p> - -<p>“You better sit down!” said the girl, moved by compassion. “You look -sick!”</p> - -<p>Rosaleen sank into a carved chair with an enormously high back; and the -maid, on her way upstairs to fetch Mr. Landry, looked back and saw her -there, erect, her feet modestly crossed, her trembling hands resting on -the arms.</p> - -<p>But when Nick came rushing down, she had gone.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_239">{239}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a id="BOOK_FOUR"></a>BOOK FOUR: THE HONOURABLE LOVERS</h2> - -<h3><a id="CHAPTER_ONE-d"></a>CHAPTER ONE</h3> - -<h4>I</h4> - -<p><span class="smcap">An</span> afternoon of unparalleled gloominess. It had been dark all the day -long, and now toward evening a savage rain had come on, driven by a cold -March wind. In his rain-coat and waterproofed boots he could in a way -defy the storm, but it affected him nevertheless; it depressed him -horribly.</p> - -<p>He had been on his way home, a bit earlier than usual, sitting in the -Elevated train and staring morosely out of the window at the drenched -city, finding it uglier, colder, more sordid than ever before. When that -curious impulse seized him, that longing he knew so well; it was a sort -of spiritual thirst, an intangible desire to be assuaged by an -intangible satisfaction. He got out of the train at Thirty-Eighth -Street, instead of at Seventy-Second, where he belonged, and hurried -east.</p> - -<p>His destination was a little restaurant on Fourth Avenue, a compromise -between the severe, white tiled cafeterias and Dairy Lunches, and the -more<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_240">{240}</a></span> luxurious sort. It had separate tables and table cloths, curtains -across the windows and a carpet on the floor. But was, nevertheless, -very cheap, and, it must be admitted, somewhat nasty. Not the place one -would have picked out for a man as prosperous, as fastidious as this -one.</p> - -<p>It was very early, and the place was empty. He opened the glass door and -entered, went at once to a table in a corner and took off his dripping -hat and his overcoat and hung them on a brass hat-rack beside which -stood a great Japanese jar for umbrellas. A man of thirty-five or so, -with a neat black moustache and a dark and saturnine face, well-dressed, -in a conservative sort of way.</p> - -<p>He didn’t sit down when he had taken off his coat; he remained standing, -looking about him. And in a moment a waitress came hurrying over to him, -a hollow-cheeked, brown haired young woman of thirty, her fragile grace -encased in a stiffly-starched white apron.</p> - -<p>“Hello!” she said, with a serious smile.</p> - -<p>“Hello!” he answered. “I felt I had to see you.... How <i>are</i> you?”</p> - -<p>“All right, thank you! What will you have?”</p> - -<p>“Sit down for a while!” he said. “It’s too early to eat. Anyway I’ll -have to go home for dinner.”</p> - -<p>“You must take something!” she said. “They<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_241">{241}</a></span> won’t like it if you just -sit here without ordering.”</p> - -<p>He picked up the menu, but after a frowning scrutiny, threw it down.</p> - -<p>“Anything that’s not too poisonous,” he said. “And hurry back, Rosaleen, -before the place begins to fill up.”</p> - -<p>She returned presently with her tray, set his dishes before him, and sat -down opposite him, leaning her elbows on the table and her chin in her -hands.</p> - -<p>“You must have known I wanted to see you to-day!” she said.</p> - -<p>“Don’t you always?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, of course. But specially to-day. Because little Petey’s sick, and -I wanted to talk to you about it.”</p> - -<p>“Have you had a doctor?”</p> - -<p>“Yes; but I don’t like him. I don’t think he’s much good. I want a -better one.”</p> - -<p>“I’ll see you get one.... What’s the trouble?”</p> - -<p>“Fever,” she said. “And headache, and he’s sick all the time.... Poor -little fellow!”</p> - -<p>She stared ahead of her with troubled eyes.</p> - -<p>“I can’t help being worried,” she went on. “The doctor says it’s just a -bilious attack, but he’s been sick for four days, and he seems to be -growing worse. Katie’s dreadfully upset.... I did wish I could speak to -<i>you</i>.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_242">{242}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“Why didn’t you telephone or write?”</p> - -<p>She shook her head.</p> - -<p>“I wouldn’t like to do that!” she said. “But I did hope you’d come -soon.”</p> - -<p>It was curious that they practically never looked at each other, these -two. The proprietress, who had witnessed this friendship for the past -five years, and with favor, because of the trade it brought, had often -observed that. She had so often seen them sitting thus, at a table, -looking past each other, and not speaking very much. It was her theory -that they met outside, and that the man was a millionaire with a jealous -wife, and that he adored her waitress. A romantic and delightful theory; -she was not above recounting it as a true tale to certain friends. And -it was especially nice because this most flattering attention didn’t at -all unsettle Rosaleen; she was invariably prompt, careful and -good-tempered, a little aloof, but that was no fault.</p> - -<p>He didn’t touch his dinner to-night. He got up and thrust his arms into -his overcoat again.</p> - -<p>“Telephone to Doctor Denz as soon as you go out,” he said. “I’ll stop on -my way home and arrange with him.... Try not to worry, old girl.... And -you could telephone me at the office to-morrow, if you wanted.”</p> - -<p>“Thank you, Mr. Landry!” she answered.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_243">{243}</a></span></p> - -<p>As he always did, he put the money for his meal and the tip under his -plate in a guilty way, and went off. But at the door he turned again, -and raised his hat. And Rosaleen returned a slight wave of the hand.</p> - -<h4>II</h4> - -<p><span class="smcap">It</span> was a day marked by Fate as an important one—as the beginning of a -new phase. Landry, however, was not in the least aware of this. He went -on his way, absorbed in thought, still very serious, but unreasonably -consoled, as he always was by these absurd and inarticulate interviews -with Rosaleen.</p> - -<p>He still lived in his aunt’s house. He had, as he became more -prosperous, made an attempt to set up an individual establishment with -his mother and sister, but they didn’t like New York; they weren’t happy -there; they pined for Charleston, and he had sent them back. And, in -spite of his independence and his fastidious bachelor habits, he was -very much alarmed at the idea of setting up for himself. He had -pretended to his aunt and to himself that he wished to find a cosy -little flat and a good valet, but he had never really looked for either. -His aunt wished for nothing better than to keep him with her<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_244">{244}</a></span> forever, -the house revolved about him; he had a bedroom and a study, and he was -waited upon like a Sultan.</p> - -<p>By minute degrees and in a quite incomprehensible manner, he had become -accountable to his cousin Caroline. If he came in late, he explained to -her why, and where he had been. If he went to a dance or a dinner -without her, he returned prepared to give her all the details. He even -made an effort to observe and remember things about which he knew he -would be asked.</p> - -<p>Caroline was now twenty-seven, and as far as ever from getting married. -She was a chilly, languid young Southron with a pallid, freckled face -and beautiful fine gold hair; she had a sort of frigid charm which -sufficed to attract men, but which couldn’t hold them. She had -innumerable “beaux,” but she had never had a man seriously in love with -her. It was a severe misfortune for her; she had no other aim, no other -interest in life except marriage; her days were becoming flat and weary -beyond toleration to her, and a fatal resentment against men was -creeping over her. Her cousin Nick was perfectly well aware that she -would have married him if he had offered, but that did not flatter him, -because there were several others whom she would just as soon have had, -and at least one whom she<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_245">{245}</a></span> would have preferred. He certainly didn’t -love Caroline; he didn’t even admire her, but he had for her a genuine -enough sort of brotherly affection and a small secret fear. He was never -quite sure what she would do.</p> - -<p>Everything went just as usual during dinner that evening; there was the -same effort to entertain and distract the man which he had grown to -consider a matter of course. If either his aunt or Caroline had sat at -the table preoccupied or melancholy, he would have resented it deeply. -Even a headache, if it permitted the sufferer to appear at all, must be -accompanied by a wan smile and an air of interest. Then after dinner -they went into the library, and as usual his aunt implored him not to -work, but to rest and amuse himself, and complained that they saw so -little of him. He was distrait, though, and anxious to get away to his -little study where he could think in peace; he excused himself on the -plea of work, and was making his escape when Caroline beckoned him into -the little music room.</p> - -<p>“Come here, Nickie!” she called, imperiously.</p> - -<p>He obeyed, and she made him sit down beside her on the sofa.</p> - -<p>“Ah’ve been hearing tales about you!” she said severely.</p> - -<p>He smiled at her.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_246">{246}</a></span></p> - -<p>“Let’s have them!”</p> - -<p>“Jim saw you. Ah’m shocked!... He was over on Fou’th Avenue last week, -surveying, and he says he stopped in at a funny little place there for a -bite of lunch. And there he saw you in a corner with one of the -waitresses——”</p> - -<p>“Pshaw!” said Nick. “If that’s the worst he can do——”</p> - -<p>“He said she was a right pretty girl. And sitting down at the table with -you....”</p> - -<p>“Very likely. Why not?”</p> - -<p>Now Caroline had considered this tale of absolutely no importance, when -she began. She had simply wished to bring it up so that they might have -a little gallant badinage. But now it looked otherwise. Nick was really -annoyed, and something more than annoyed. He evidently wished to get -away from her and not to speak of this episode. Nick and a <i>waitress</i>! -It hardly seemed credible; and yet Caroline was ready to believe the -worst where men were concerned.</p> - -<p>She went over to the piano and began to play; her one sure refuge from -any difficult situation, and while she played, Nick slipped out of the -room. He was curiously disturbed. This was the first time in five years -that anyone had got word of his interviews with Rosaleen. He shrank with -passionate<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_247">{247}</a></span> sensitiveness from any intrusion into this secret world, -this intangible, ineffable companionship.</p> - -<p>Five years! He lighted a cigar and sat down to contemplate it, with -pain, with limitless regret, and yet finding a sweet consolation in -their silent fidelity.</p> - -<p>For five years he had had to watch Rosaleen living that barren and -difficult life....</p> - -<p>He recalled that day, when the parlourmaid had waked him up to tell him -that there was “a lady downstairs to see you, sir.” A hatless, very pale -lady, who had been pushed in at the door by a man who immediately -disappeared. There was no trace of her when he got downstairs; he had -gone out on the front steps in his dressing gown to look up and down the -street, but without seeing anything. Directly he was dressed, he had -gone to Lawrence, and Lawrence had lied impudently and borrowed money. -He had said he didn’t know where Rosaleen had gone, or why, or if she -would ever return.</p> - -<p>He recalled his tremendous two weeks’ battle with Miss Waters. Day after -day he had gone to entreat her, to bully, to cajole, to trick her into -giving him Rosaleen’s address. And she had always wept bitterly and -refused.</p> - -<p>“I <i>promised</i> her I wouldn’t tell <i>anyone</i>!” she<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_248">{248}</a></span> said, over and over. -“And you above all! Oh, Mr. Landry! I can’t!”</p> - -<p>“Don’t you trust me?” he had demanded. “Do you think I’d annoy or -persecute Rosaleen?”</p> - -<p>“Of course I don’t!”</p> - -<p>“If you’re really her friend,—if you’re thinking of her welfare, you’ll -tell me where she is. She may need help.”</p> - -<p>In the end he made use of a shameful device—a theatric threat which -even now made him blush. He told Miss Waters that if she wouldn’t help -him to see Rosaleen, he was going to kill himself; he had even brought -an old revolver with him. And to save the life of this young hero, Miss -Waters had told him the name of the restaurant where Rosaleen worked.</p> - -<p>He recalled his first visit there; how he had sat at one of the tables, -watching Rosaleen hurrying about, taking orders, carrying her heavy -tray, submissive and alert....</p> - -<p>He had waited outside for her for hours. But she wouldn’t let him take -her home.</p> - -<p>“I’m living with a married sister,” she had told him. “I’m perfectly all -right there. But I don’t want <i>you</i> to come there, Mr. Landry!”</p> - -<p>They had walked down Fourth Avenue and over into Madison Square Park, -where they had wan<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_249">{249}</a></span>dered for hours that windy Autumn night. She had -spoken quite freely about her own people, about her mother in -Philadelphia, about this sister, the only member of the family with whom -she had kept in touch. She was married to a shipping clerk, and there -were three small children, the youngest of whom was Petey. And they were -very poor.</p> - -<p>“You must let me help you!” said Nick. “There’s no reason—no sense in -your living this way.”</p> - -<p>“No,” she said, very resolutely. “I wouldn’t! Not for <i>anything</i>! I dare -say you didn’t believe me when I told you—that time—that for myself I -wouldn’t have thought of—borrowing. But it was true. I’d rather be as -poor as poor, and be independent. And have my self-respect.”</p> - -<p>“But you don’t want to go on like this? Being a—waitress, and living -like this. You don’t want to lose all that you’ve gained—to slip out of -the class where you belong....”</p> - -<p>“I don’t belong to any class,” she answered. “That’s the whole trouble. -I don’t belong anywhere. I wish I’d been let alone. I wish I’d stayed -like Katie.”</p> - -<p>“But you——” he began, and ended by murmuring something about -“education” and “advantages.”</p> - -<p>“What good does it do?” she asked. “I’m not happy and I’m not useful. -And in my heart I do<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_250">{250}</a></span>n’t want anything better—or even anything -different—to what Katie wants.”</p> - -<p>“And what is that?” he asked.</p> - -<p>“Oh,—a nice home and not too much worry—and a family, I suppose,” she -answered.</p> - -<p>“Then you expect to go like this, indefinitely, although you admit -you’re neither happy nor useful?”</p> - -<p>“I am a little bit useful—to Katie.”</p> - -<p>“But I can’t stand it, Rosaleen, if you’re not happy. I’m going to make -you happy. I’m going to arrange for a divorce for you——”</p> - -<p>“No, you’re not!” she cried. “I wouldn’t have it!”</p> - -<p>“<i>Why?</i>”</p> - -<p>“Because it’s a horrid, wrong idea,” she had insisted. “With his being -blind—and everything....”</p> - -<p>You could never argue with that confounded woman. She never listened to -the voice of reason; she listened to something else—God knows what. And -every act in her life had to be in conformity with this subtle and rigid -authority. She never thought, she never puzzled, about what was right -and what was wrong; she simply knew at once, by instinct. And that was -the end of it. She lived by<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_251">{251}</a></span> the rule of a beautiful propriety; she -would never do anything which did not befit her.</p> - -<p>Nick had given up, long ago. And now, he had almost come to believe that -her way, if not <i>the</i> right way, was certainly one of the right ways of -living, and that Rosaleen divorced would not have been quite Rosaleen. -Sometimes, when he grew intolerably lonely for her, or when the sight of -her in her white apron flying about waiting on other men incensed and -distressed him more than usual, he would rail at her “obstinate, petty -conventionality.” But she had none the less succeeded in making him -comprehend her point of view; not with words, because she was not gifted -with speech, but in some way of her own, her feeling that in divorcing -Lawrence and marrying Nick she would lose her own especial quality.</p> - -<p>“It’s all right for lots of people,” she said. “I haven’t got any -particular prejudice against it. It’s only a <i>feeling</i>.... I—well, I -just <i>can’t</i>, that’s all.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_252">{252}</a></span>”</p> - -<h3><a id="CHAPTER_TWO-d"></a>CHAPTER TWO</h3> - -<h4>I</h4> - -<p><span class="smcap">It</span> was a well-known thing in that household that Nick required a long -time to dress. He had come home from the office promptly at six and had -gone at once to his room, where, as he had expected, his evening clothes -were laid ready for him. He was to take Mrs. Allanby and Caroline to a -dinner at the house of one of his senior partners, and it was an -altogether particular and important occasion. Caroline was wearing a new -dress, of which he thoroughly approved; she had been ready when he came -home, so that he could see it and pass judgment. Mrs. Allanby was still -dressing; she was, in spite of her fifty years, a lady of no little -quiet coquetry, and on this occasion she had a two-fold desire to look -her best, first, because she so valued her nephew’s approbation, and -second because she was very anxious to impress upon the senior partner -how excellent a family was Nick’s.</p> - -<p>He had bathed and shaved, and was standing before the mirror in shirt -and trousers, tying his white tie with severe attention, when someone<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_253">{253}</a></span> -knocked at his door. He was surprised, almost affronted.</p> - -<p>“Well!” he called. “What is it?”</p> - -<p>“It’s Ca’line!”</p> - -<p>“I’m not late! It’s not half past seven yet....”</p> - -<p>“No, Ah know it! But someone wants to speak to you on the telephone.”</p> - -<p>“Who?”</p> - -<p>“Ah don’t know.... A woman.... She wouldn’t tell her name. She said it -was important. Shall Ah say you’re busy and can’t come?”</p> - -<p>“No!” he said, hastily. “I’ll come!”</p> - -<p>And just as he was, hurried into the little sewing room where the -upstairs telephone was.</p> - -<p>“This is Landry speaking!” he said.</p> - -<p>And a forlorn and patient voice answered:</p> - -<p>“It’s me—Rosaleen.... It’s about Petey. I’m very sorry to bother you, -but I don’t know what to do, exactly.”</p> - -<p>“Why? Tell me!”</p> - -<p>“The doctor says it’s typhoid fever——”</p> - -<p>“By George! That’s too bad!”</p> - -<p>“And Katie’s.... It’s hard to tell it over the telephone.... I -<i>wish</i>—couldn’t I possibly see you just for a few minutes?”</p> - -<p>“Of course! I’ll be with you at once. Where are you?<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_254">{254}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“I’m at home,” she answered, and gave him the address she had withheld -for five years.</p> - -<p>Nick turned to Caroline.</p> - -<p>“I’ll have to go somewhere first,” he said, hurriedly. “I’ll try not to -be late for dinner. But if I am, go without me, and I’ll follow.... Just -explain to Anson——”</p> - -<p>“Explain what? Where are you going?”</p> - -<p>Indignation and disappointment had brought tears to her eyes. This -outrageous desertion was too much for her; she struggled for a moment to -hold her tongue, but she could not.</p> - -<p>“It’s that <i>waitress</i>!” she cried. “Ah know it! Some nasty, common, -scheming woman.... It’s a <i>shame</i>! It’s a <i>shame</i>!”</p> - -<p>She began to cry.</p> - -<p>“It’s a <i>shame</i>!” she cried again.</p> - -<p>Nick looked at her with frigid disgust.</p> - -<p>“It happens to be a—very old friend who’s in great trouble,” he said.</p> - -<p>“<i>What</i> old friend? How can you have old friends here that we never -heard of?”</p> - -<p>He turned away from her and rang up a nearby garage for a taxi.</p> - -<p>“It’s a case of serious illness,” he said.</p> - -<p>“Do you mean to say you’re <i>not coming</i> to that dinner?” cried -Caroline.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_255">{255}</a></span></p> - -<p>“Haven’t you any—heart?” demanded her cousin. “I tell you, someone is -seriously ill....”</p> - -<p>“What’s it got to do with <i>you</i>!” cried Caroline. “Who is it? Why won’t -you tell me?”</p> - -<p>When they looked back upon that episode later, it didn’t seem -<i>possible</i>. That these two people, so dignified, so self-restrained, so -civilized, should have said what they said to each other, should have -enacted so disgraceful a scene!</p> - -<p>“Who is this person that’s seriously ill?” Caroline demanded, again, -with fierce contempt.</p> - -<p>“It’s none of your business!” said Nick.</p> - -<p>He was astounded, she was astounded, by such a phrase from him.</p> - -<p>“All right!” said she. “Go to your waitress! Ah don’t care! But Ah won’t -go to the dinner either! And Ah won’t send any word or make any excuses. -<i>You</i> can do that to-morrow, in your office. <i>You</i> can explain to Mr. -Anson why nobody came to his dinner party.”</p> - -<p>“You couldn’t <i>do</i> such a—beastly, contemptible thing!” cried Nick in -alarm. It was the special business of women to make excuses for men; -they knew how; they had the art.... “Caroline, if you <i>don’t</i>, I’ll -never forgive you!”</p> - -<p>“Ah don’t give a <i>darn</i>!” she cried. “There!”</p> - -<p>“You’ve <i>got</i> to go!” he said, but weakly. He<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_256">{256}</a></span> couldn’t make her.... He -stood there by the telephone, white with rage, trying to think.... But -nothing came to his brain except two horribly distressing pictures; he -saw Anson and his wife and the other guests waiting, polite but -astonished and resentful.... And he saw Rosaleen, wild with anxiety, -looking out of a window for him.</p> - -<p>“There’s a taxi here, sir!” said a voice, and he saw the parlourmaid in -the doorway, frankly interested at this curious spectacle of Miss -Caroline in evening dress and Mr. Landry in his shirt sleeves, evidently -quarreling.</p> - -<p>“Yes, it’s for me!” he said, briefly.</p> - -<p>Without another glance at Caroline he ran into his room, hurried on his -waistcoat and dress coat, thrust on his overcoat, snatched up hat and -stick and rushed out.</p> - -<p>Rage burned in him. He didn’t think of Rosaleen as the taxi sped along; -he thought of Caroline, with hate, with triumph.</p> - -<p>“Let her go to the devil!” he said. “I <i>won’t be</i> bullied!”</p> - -<h4>II</h4> - -<p><span class="smcap">It</span> was a miserable place over a bakery on Third Avenue, a squalid -evil-smelling neighbourhood, with the Elevated trains thundering past. -This tall man in evening dress descending from a taxi aroused<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_257">{257}</a></span> profound -interest; one bright little boy said it was movies. He entered the -narrow hallway from which the stairs ascended, steep as a ladder, and -after striking a match, saw four name plates beneath four bells. -Cohen—Moriarity—Connelly—O’Dea.</p> - -<p>As he hesitated before them, Rosaleen herself came hurrying down the -steep stairs.</p> - -<p>“I saw you coming!” she said. “Oh, Mr. Landry, I didn’t know what to do! -He’s sick—he’s very, very sick! The doctor says he’ll either have to go -to the hospital or have a nurse, and Katie won’t let him go.... She’s in -such a terrible state....”</p> - -<p>“Let him have a nurse, of course.”</p> - -<p>“But we can’t. There’s no place for a nurse to sleep. And it’s not a fit -place for little Petey, either. He ought to go to the hospital. He won’t -have any chance here. I know it’s dreadful of me, but I——”</p> - -<p>She had suddenly seized one of his hands with both of hers and pressed -it violently, quite distraught, quite unconscious of what she did.</p> - -<p>“I don’t care! I made up my mind that I <i>would</i> ask you.... Won’t you -come upstairs and talk to Katie? You don’t know how she feels about a -hospital.... She’s only known people in the wards, where—it isn’t so -nice.... When you’re so poor, you’re—so helpless.... If you’d just tell -her that Petey’s to have a private room and a nurse<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_258">{258}</a></span> and everything done -for him, and that she can see him any time she wants...? Oh, I know it -will cost a fortune! I have no right to ask you.... But I knew you’d do -it!”</p> - -<p>“You don’t know how glad I am to be asked,” said Nick. “Come on! Let’s -go upstairs!”</p> - -<p>This where she lived—where she had lived for five years! This dirty, -dilapidated hole, dark, airless, with grimy windows on a malodourous -court, with the thundering roar of the trains making the very walls -shake, with these pitiful and fragile little children always underfoot! -He had known that she was poor, that the whole family was poor, but he -had not imagined anything like this. He had never set foot in such a -place before. It filled him with horror, these mean, cramped little -quarters which the despair of poverty had left dirty and neglected. -There wasn’t a chair in that room on which he dared to sit, one had a -broken back, another a broken seat, another had a leg missing....</p> - -<p>There came bursting into the room a big, gaunt woman like a fury, -desperate with grief and fright.</p> - -<p>“What is it ye want?” she cried, to Nick.</p> - -<p>Rosaleen began to whisper to her, and she became calmer, became little -by little composed and shrewd. This was a man from whom benefits might -be expected.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_259">{259}</a></span></p> - -<p>“I thought maybe you were from the Board!” she explained. “<span class="lftspc">’</span>Tis them do -be worrying the likes of us whenever there is any sickness in it at -all.”</p> - -<p>She had been living in a very nightmare of fear; her little child was -ill and the world was conspiring to snatch it from her. She was quite -determined that it should not go. She didn’t know, poor soul, just what -awful powers the police and the health officials might have. She was -accustomed to their authority. It might be the law to take her child -away. But law or no law, she would not have it! She saw hope in this -rich friend of Rosaleen’s; she clung to him; she fawned upon him.</p> - -<p>She opened the door of the room where Petey lay. There was nothing in it -but two big wooden beds. Outside from the fire escape hung a line of -limp clothing fluttering in the night wind; nothing else to be seen.... -The sick baby lay motionless in the centre of one of the wide beds, -blazing with fever, his face scarlet, his brow pitifully contorted, his -eyes closed. His limp little body seemed scarcely to raise the bed -covers; his arms lay outside the counterpane, with their thin, flat -wrists, the tiny, stubby hands....</p> - -<p>The mother flew over to him and tucked his arms under the blanket.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_260">{260}</a></span></p> - -<p>“Do you want to catch yer death!” she cried, harshly, to the unconscious -child.</p> - -<p>She passed her hand over his burning head, feeling the hard, round -little skull under the fine hair.</p> - -<p>“He’s that hot!” she said. And suddenly began wailing.</p> - -<p>“Oh, he cannot live at all! Well do I know he’s to be took from me! -Petey! Oh, Petey, my darlin’!”</p> - -<p>Rosaleen tried to quiet her.</p> - -<p>“Listen, Katie dearie!” she said. “Mr. Landry’s going to help us! -Petey’s going to have a beautiful big room all to himself——”</p> - -<p>Her sister swore at her.</p> - -<p>“I will not let thim lave a hand on Petey!” she cried. “They’ll not take -him from me!”</p> - -<p>“Katie, you can go with him!” Rosaleen promised. “You can go to the -hospital with him and sit by him for a while, can’t she, Mr. Landry?”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said Nick. “It’ll be just as Rosaleen says.”</p> - -<h4>III</h4> - -<p><span class="smcap">They</span> had gone, Katie and her baby, in a private ambulance, and Nick had -arranged with the doctor for the child’s reception. It seemed as if a -terrible storm had come and gone, leaving an unnatural calm. He sat in -the little hole Katie called her<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_261">{261}</a></span> “parlour,” with its dirty lace -curtains, its little gilt table, the two broken rocking chairs with -“tidies” fastened to their backs by stained red ribbons.</p> - -<p>Rosaleen tried to explain to him. She tried, in her tongue-tied way, to -draw for him a picture of all these lives. Katie, she told him, was a -wonderful woman, a wife of unlimited loyalty, a mother of passionate and -ceaseless devotion. Her husband was a shipping clerk; he had worked in -various department stores, but he was very unlucky; he was always -hurting himself, straining his back, crushing his fingers, dropping -crates on his feet. And with the three children, and big Pete laid up so -often, you could see....</p> - -<p>“And I don’t make much,” she said, simply. “Sometimes we think we -<i>can’t</i> get on. But we do.”</p> - -<p>She sighed, with all that dreadful resignation of hers.</p> - -<p>But Nick had nothing to say to that recital of hers; he sat in complete -silence for a long time. Rosaleen watched him covertly; she worshipped -him; she thought, that in his evening dress, he was the most -distinguished, the most magnificent creature she had ever seen. Oh, -there was no one like him! Her Nick, who never failed her, who always -understood her, who never took advantage of her misfortunes.... He did -not look at her; how was<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_262">{262}</a></span> she to know that <i>he</i> was worshipping <i>her</i>, -abashed and humble before her matchless compassion and unselfishness. -She suffered all things, endured all things, and was kind....</p> - -<p>In squalor, poverty and incessant anxiety, she had kept her spirit -tranquil and true. Her affection which never criticised, made no -demands, seemed to him to sanctify this place. He remembered that when -he had first learned of her origin, in Miss Amy’s violent words, he had -believed himself “disillusioned”; and had been bitter and angry toward -her. That was nearly eight years ago; she was thirty now; the best of -her youth was over, had passed in cruel and thankless servitude. No -matter what happened in the future, that couldn’t be effaced, those -wrongs could never be repaired. Lawrence had exploited her shamelessly, -Miss Amy had exploited her, her sister in her blind and pitiful -motherhood would have drained her dry of blood for the benefit of her -children; he himself had repudiated and deserted her. And she had no -rancour, no bitterness even toward life in the abstract. She was simply -resigned, a little sorrowful, but brave, patient, enduring to the -uttermost end.</p> - -<p>He got up suddenly and held out his hand.</p> - -<p>“Good night!” he said, brusquely. “You’ll hear from me very soon.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_263">{263}</a></span>”</p> - -<h3><a id="CHAPTER_THREE-d"></a>CHAPTER THREE</h3> - -<h4>I</h4> - -<p><span class="smcap">He</span> had never been so wretched before. It was the suffering of a -vigourous and obstinate man entangled in a situation in which he is -unable to move. He wished to lay everything at Rosaleen’s feet, and yet -could give her nothing. He longed to relieve her intolerable burdens, -and could not take a step toward doing so.</p> - -<p>And, as always when he was not able to act, anger took possession of -him. He was cool, resolute, self-controlled enough when there was -anything for him to do, but tie his hands and his blood began to boil. -His wrath began to descend upon Lawrence. He decided that he would go to -see him, to threaten, to bully, to bribe, in some way to force him to -free Rosaleen against her will. He refused to see the absurdity of this; -directly he had made the decision he felt a sort of peace, and he was -able to go home and to sleep.</p> - -<p>He knew very well that there must be a reckoning at home, and he -welcomed it. He wanted it. He blamed all the world for Rosaleen’s -sufferings.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_264">{264}</a></span> He wished to defend her and to fight for her. Unaccountably -and very unjustly he was angry at his aunt and at Caroline. (Or was it -perhaps that he subconsciously wished to forestall their -reproaches?).... However, he appeared at breakfast the next morning in a -most unpleasant mood. He said “Good morning!” frigidly to Mrs. Allanby, -and sat down at the table with a frown.</p> - -<p>“I’d like to speak to you alone for a minute, if you please!” he said.</p> - -<p>With a gesture his aunt dismissed the servant, and sat looking quietly -at him.</p> - -<p>“About last night,” he began. “I told Caroline it was a case of urgent -necessity. She couldn’t—or <i>wouldn’t</i> understand.”</p> - -<p>“Ah think it would have been better to have made your excuses to Mr. -Anson,” she said, evenly.</p> - -<p>“I left that to—to you. You understand that sort of thing. You have so -much tact....”</p> - -<p>“You didn’t ask me, Nick!”</p> - -<p>“I hadn’t time. Good Lord! Caroline isn’t a child. She ought to -understand——”</p> - -<p>“Understand just what? You didn’t tell her where you were going, or why. -No! Please don’t interrupt me for a minute! Ah know you’re not -accountable to us in any way. But we were just going to that dinner for -your sake, because you asked us.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_265">{265}</a></span> And.... Ah’m disappointed in you. Ah -can’t help it!”</p> - -<p>“You shouldn’t be. It’s not fair. It was an urgent matter. I was worried -and upset, and perhaps I did neglect certain formalities. But under the -circumstances, you ought to make allowances.”</p> - -<p>“But what were the circumstances? You must remember we don’t know them.”</p> - -<p>He was silent; then he asked, abruptly.</p> - -<p>“What happened? What did you do?”</p> - -<p>“Ah went. Ah thought if Ca’line went, too, it might make an odd number. -Ah told Mr. Anson that an old friend of the family had met with an -accident and that you and Ca’line had gone to him.”</p> - -<p>“That was nice of you!” said Nick, gratefully. “Then it’s all right, is -it?”</p> - -<p>“As far as Mr. Anson goes. But Ah <i>do</i> think.... Boy, you don’t know how -you worry me.”</p> - -<p>He looked at her, with quite his old smile.</p> - -<p>“No!” he said. “I will <i>not</i> tell you! Not yet!”</p> - -<h4>II</h4> - -<p><span class="smcap">It</span> was the first time in years that he had stopped away from his office. -But he was too sternly intent upon his new purpose to be able to think -of anything else. He sat in his study, smoking a cigar, until it seemed -to him a reasonable hour, and then set out.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_266">{266}</a></span></p> - -<p>He was very nervous; more so than he realised. And his descent into that -old neighbourhood revived a hundred memories to oppress him. He fancied -he saw her ghost, its arms full of bundles, running through Fourth -Street....</p> - -<p>“The best of her life wasted!” he said to himself, over and over. It -gave him courage.</p> - -<p>He needed courage, too. He was very much afraid of Lawrence; not, of -course, in a physical sense, but because Lawrence had any number of -mysterious advantages. Lawrence was blind and helpless, Lawrence was -Rosaleen’s lawful husband, Lawrence was infinitely more sophisticated -and subtle than himself.... A formidable adversary. He made no plan of -what he should say; with such a person it was not possible, for you -couldn’t know in what humour you would catch him. He resolved simply to -keep his temper and to flinch at nothing.</p> - -<p>The front door was unlatched, as it had always been in the old days; he -entered and went upstairs, knocked on the familiar door. But a strange -voice answered him, a strange young man lived in there, who knew nothing -whatever of Lawrence Iverson.</p> - -<p>He made a few other enquiries in the house, but without result.</p> - -<p>He was on his way home, walking up Fifth Avenue while he watched for his -bus, when he passed<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_267">{267}</a></span> a familiar corner, and he decided to call upon Miss -Waters. She was a link with the old days.</p> - -<p>There at least nothing was changed. She sat as usual in the dusty old -studio, and she herself was as dusty, as wrinkled, as flustered as -before. And inordinately delighted to see him. She even wept.</p> - -<p>“I hardly ever see Rosaleen,” she said. “Once in a great, great while, -on a Sunday, she drops in. But I don’t blame her, poor girl! She’s so -busy and so worried.... You don’t <i>know</i>——”</p> - -<p>She was obliged to stop and dry her eyes.</p> - -<p>“You don’t know how much I miss those old days!” she said. “I always -loved Rosaleen like my own child.... Poor girl! I never saw much of her -during her married life. Her husband and I were not—very congenial. But -there’s always been such a <i>bond</i> between us, Mr. Landry! I can’t help -saying to <i>you</i> that I think that marriage was a mistake!”</p> - -<p>“Not much doubt about <i>that</i>! Do you happen to know where the—the -fellow’s gone?”</p> - -<p>“No. I never enquired. And I haven’t kept track of the old crowd.”</p> - -<p>Poor soul! Not one of the “old crowd” except Miss Mell had ever come -near her.</p> - -<p>“I’m not up-to-date on news of the quarter!” she said, archly. “Don’t -come to me for <i>that</i>, Mr. Landry!<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_268">{268}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“I didn’t. I came because I wanted to see you.”</p> - -<p>She was pleased; she wished that she had put her least dusty velvet bow -in her hair instead of this gnawed little thing that now perched -there....</p> - -<p>Perhaps his love for Rosaleen had given Nick a more understanding heart, -or perhaps it was that he was well-disposed toward everyone associated -with the beloved woman, but from whatever cause, he saw Miss Waters that -day in a new light. He saw her not as a comic old maid, but as a quite -admirable human being. She was a plucky old girl, struggling along with -art lessons, and a wonderful friend.</p> - -<p>She began asking him about himself, but he became more and more -distrait. Suddenly he told her the whole story.</p> - -<p>She was astonished, she was profoundly touched; she wept bitterly, but -she was delighted, both because the magnificent Mr. Landry had seen fit -to confide in her, and because it was a romantic history, such as she -loved.</p> - -<p>“I don’t know what to do,” he said, when he had finished. “I don’t know -how to help her. Can you suggest anything?”</p> - -<p>And, to his surprise, she did.</p> - -<p>“No, of course, <i>you</i> can’t do anything,” she said. “But if you could -only get the ladies of your family interested in her.... <i>They</i> could do -<i>anything</i>!<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_269">{269}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“What could they do?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, they’d think of all sorts of ways, if they really wanted to help!”</p> - -<p>“They wouldn’t, though,” he said gloomily. “They’ve got all sorts of -prejudices....”</p> - -<p>“If they could see her, and get to know her, it would be all right.”</p> - -<p>“My aunt has seen her, you know!”</p> - -<p>“Yes, but don’t you see! <i>Now</i> she’s the wife of the distinguished -artist Lawrence Iverson! Think what a difference that makes!”</p> - -<p>“I never thought of her—like that.... And you think they could help -her?”</p> - -<p>“I’m sure of it! And you know, dear Mr. Landry, people love to be -associated with Artists. As Mrs. Lawrence Iverson, you know, she’s -really a most interesting figure. Someone might be induced to set her up -in an Antique Shop, or something like that.”</p> - -<p>In the end they decided that Mrs. Allanby and Caroline should be -suddenly confronted with Rosaleen in this new and impressive rôle.</p> - -<p>“But we can’t tell Rosaleen!” said Miss Waters. “She’d never consent. -She’s so retiring. I’ll tell you what! I’ll give a studio party, next -Saturday evening, and if you’ll bring them, I’ll get Rosaleen here. Will -you?<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_270">{270}</a></span>”</p> - -<h4>III</h4> - -<p><span class="smcap">Never</span> had Miss Waters been so excited. The moment Landry had left, she -hurried out and bought a small plane. She desired that there should be -dancing at her party, and to make that possible, she would have to “do” -the studio floor. There were two pupils working in there, and it -disturbed them very much when Miss Waters got down on her hands and -knees in one corner and began to use her plane. However, it didn’t last -long. An hour’s work convinced her that the whole floor would take her -some years to finish. She employed the plane instead with great zest on -those little shelves she had put up; she smoothed them off and painted -them a very artistic orange, with a stencil of black tulips. She was, -you must know, very handy with tools....</p> - -<p>Her preparations were most extensive. She spent an outrageous amount of -time and money, and she bought too much of everything. Two hundred -cigarettes, among other things, and a plethora of flowers. She made -little wreaths to put on the heads of her plaster statues, and she -painted a little card for each guest to take home as a souvenir.</p> - -<h4>IV</h4> - -<p><span class="smcap">Rosaleen</span> had not been warned. She had come directly from the restaurant, -in her threadbare suit<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_271">{271}</a></span> and her faded black hat. And to be ushered into -the midst of a chattering party of twelve or fifteen people was a -terrible ordeal to her. She turned quite pale; she stood in the doorway, -drawing off her gloves and smiling nervously. At first she didn’t quite -grasp it....</p> - -<p>It startled her, too, for Miss Waters to address her as “Mrs. Iverson,” -and to present her so. At first she saw only one familiar face, and that -was Miss Mell’s, the same, stout, bespectacled friend of the old studio -days. And then suddenly she caught sight of a face from a nightmare.... -Surely that lady who had sat in the Humberts’ kitchen....</p> - -<p>She was hurried forward by Miss Waters, and Mrs. Lawrence Iverson was -presented to Mrs. Allanby. Who instantly recognised her. And to Miss -Caroline Allanby, who at once knew that this was the person who had -beguiled Nick.... And Nick, who was standing behind them, and Miss -Waters, both saw immediately that the experiment had failed. The two -ladies didn’t care a fig for the wife of the distinguished artist; they -greeted her politely, but with unmistakable chilliness. There was more -in this than met the eye! They had suspected <i>something</i> when Nick had -been so insistent about bringing them to this “studio party.”</p> - -<p>There were three lively rings at the door bell, and Miss Waters was glad -to hasten away to admit the<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_272">{272}</a></span> latest comer. It was Miss Gosorkus, more -friendly, more exuberant than ever before. She beamed at everyone and -sat down at the side of Dodo Mell.</p> - -<p>“Hello, Mell!” she cried. “How are you? I haven’t seen you for ages upon -ages!... Do you remember the larks we used to have up in your old -studio?”</p> - -<p>Miss Mell had never been enthusiastic regarding Miss Gosorkus; she -remembered what a great nuisance she had been; she answered with -moderation.</p> - -<p>“And doesn’t it seem sort of sad?” Miss Gosorkus went on. “Enid gone to -live abroad, and poor Lawrence Iverson gone!”</p> - -<p>Everyone heard her; everyone looked up with interest. Dodo tried to -whisper a warning, but it was not heard.</p> - -<p>“You heard, didn’t you?” she went on. “It was the saddest thing! You -know, of course, that the poor man went blind. And then, my dear, that -heartless, awful woman he’d married deserted him. I believe she ran off -with another man.”</p> - -<p>“Shut up!” whispered Dodo. “Don’t you <i>see</i> her?”</p> - -<p>“Who?” asked Miss Gosorkus aloud, her babyish eyes searching the room. -She didn’t recognise Rosaleen, even as a vaguely familiar face.</p> - -<p>“And after that,” she continued, “the poor man went to Paris, and he was -run over by a taxi. He’s been dead five years.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_273">{273}</a></span>”</p> - -<h3><a id="CHAPTER_FOUR-d"></a>CHAPTER FOUR</h3> - -<h4>I</h4> - -<p><span class="smcap">Nick</span> crossed the room and sat down beside Miss Gosorkus, scowling and -pale.</p> - -<p>“You’re <i>sure</i>?” he asked.</p> - -<p>“Sure?” she repeated, enquiringly.</p> - -<p>“About Iverson. About his being dead?”</p> - -<p>“Why, of course, I am! I....”</p> - -<p>“How did you hear of it?”</p> - -<p>“A friend of mine in Paris....”</p> - -<p>“Will you give me the address and let me write to her?”</p> - -<p>“<i>Him.</i> It’s a gentleman,” said Miss Gosorkus with a smirk.</p> - -<p>“Give me <i>his</i> address then.”</p> - -<p>He had taken out a note-book and a fountain pen, and sat waiting while -Miss Gosorkus somewhat reluctantly gave the information. Then he got up -and looked about for Rosaleen. She was not there. He approached his -aunt.</p> - -<p>“Order a taxi when you’re ready to go,” he said, in a tone designed to -discourage questions. Then said good-bye curtly to Miss Waters, and -hurried off.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_274">{274}</a></span></p> - -<p>It was raining fiercely when he reached the street, but he felt -nevertheless obliged to walk. He set off across the Square and up Fifth -Avenue, a solitary figure in the broad and deserted street.</p> - -<p>The barriers were all demolished. She was free—after all these years; -no obstacles separated them. And instead of joy, terror and alarm had -seized him. The idea of marrying her seemed monstrous. He didn’t want -to! And the more he didn’t want to, the more inexorably did he feel -obliged, compelled to do so without delay. It was a debt of honour, to -be paid instantly, without reflection.</p> - -<p>He was determined to follow her home to that squalid and horrible flat, -and insist upon the earliest possible wedding. She would, of course, -have all sorts of tiresome and irritating objections which he would have -to override. He would have to be masterful, resolute, fervent, and there -was nothing of that sort in him. He felt singularly cold and aloof; he -felt the strongest sort of inclination to run away from the whole -affair. He said to himself that he wanted a “chance to think it over,” -but really he did not. He wished, on the contrary, to forget it, never -to think of it again. Romance had departed from his Rosaleen. She was no -longer tragic, pitiful, inaccessible. She was nothing more or less than<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_275">{275}</a></span> -a very obscure and ordinary woman whom he was in honour bound to marry. -Quite suddenly he saw his folly, the outrageous thing this was, to waste -and ruin his life through this profoundly unsuitable marriage, which -would bring him nothing but unhappiness. What was he going to do with -her? He remembered her in the studio days, shabby, worn with humiliation -and distress, he remembered the shocking scene in the Humberts’ kitchen; -he remembered her—most painful memory of all—in the restaurant, in her -white apron, carrying her big tray.... He was ashamed of her....</p> - -<p>He clenched his hands as he walked along, and his face was grim and -desperate. He remembered how he had loved Rosaleen, and love appeared to -him as something intangible and silly. What the devil did it amount to? -<i>Why</i> must he do this? He had got on very well without her thus far.... -Now he would have to change his life completely; he would have to leave -his comfortable quarters at his aunt’s and go off to live somewhere -alone with Rosaleen. As he was prepared to make this immense sacrifice -for her, he felt justified in dwelling upon the small and intolerable -details. What would his friends say, his business associates?... He -would be ashamed of her.... Barren and disgusting duty, flat and insipid -beyond measure....<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_276">{276}</a></span></p> - -<p>He had reached the house on Third Avenue and entered it, rang the bell -in the vestibule and ascended the dirty stairs, in the dark and the foul -air. Katie opened the door for him, and admitted him grudgingly, almost -with hostility. She did not like him, and, like Rosaleen, her favour was -not to be won by benefits. No matter what he did for her and for her -family, she would <i>never</i> like him, because he was condescending and -superior. She took him into the parlour, and he sat there for an hour, -quite alone, with one dim, ghastly jet of gas burning inside a fluted -blue china globe. At intervals the elevated trains came rushing past, -and blotted out every other sound and perception from his startled and -affronted brain; then in the lull he would hear Katie’s voice in the -kitchen talking to the little children. It was ten o’clock, but there -was no air of its being bedtime, or evening. The woman was still -working, the children still playing; one might have imagined their days -to be endless.</p> - -<p>Sickened and depressed, and utterly disheartened, Landry got up.</p> - -<p>“Please tell Rosaleen I’ll come again to-morrow,” he called.</p> - -<p>It had cleared when he came out into the street again. He set off -homeward, wondering where Rosaleen might be. Did she, too, feel it -necessary<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_277">{277}</a></span> to walk and to be alone? He was certainly not sorry to have -missed her; he was glad that he was to have an opportunity for planning -a proper, gentlemanly speech. He felt that if he were to come face to -face with her now he could say nothing better than—</p> - -<p>“I suppose there’s no reason why we shouldn’t get married now.”</p> - -<p>It never occurred to him to wonder how she was feeling, what she was -thinking. He was simply convinced that her attitude would be irritating.</p> - -<h4>II</h4> - -<p><span class="smcap">If</span> he could have seen where she was! Meek, patient, quiet, her feet -crossed, her hands in her lap, she was sitting in his aunt’s -drawing-room, waiting for Mrs. Allanby’s return. Her face was -inexpressive; it was a face incapable of expression, like her voice and -her gestures. She was inarticulate, forever cut off from her fellows by -this queer helplessness. Nothing that went on in her brain or her heart -could ever be known by other people; she couldn’t show it, and she -couldn’t tell it. She sat there now without the least shadow on her face -of the dread and misery she was enduring.</p> - -<p>She had hurried out ahead of Nick because she<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_278">{278}</a></span> wanted to cry; because -she was obliged to cry, and she was afraid that this inexplicable -weeping would annoy him. She had run down the front steps and into the -shelter of the basement door and had stood there sobbing frantically and -silently for some time.... Oh, if she could only draw a great, free -breath, and go where she wanted and do as she pleased, and have no -duties and obligations toward anyone! If only, for one week even, she -could behave as she liked, without implicating any other person in her -behaviour! No: she was eternally bound to please people and to help -people. She was mortally weary of it. The tyranny of the Humberts, the -tyranny of Enid, the tyranny of Lawrence, were all about to be succeeded -and swallowed up in a tyranny a thousand times more exacting and -difficult. To satisfy Nick she would have to make herself over, and at -thirty that is not at all easy or pleasant, even for a loving woman. For -Nick she would have to keep young and cheerful, when she felt -immeasurably old and discouraged. She would have to make a place for -herself in his world, and to maintain it.</p> - -<p>She dried her eyes and straightened her hat. She waited for a few -moments in her dark little niche, looking out at the rain, and -reflecting. She gave her attention to Miss Gosorkus, to Nick, to the -aunt, to the cousin. And a very great resentment grew up<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_279">{279}</a></span> in her, a -stern and almost ferocious determination. <i>She</i> was going to get some -profit from this situation; why not? Why should she always give, and -sacrifice, and efface herself? She made up her mind to begin her new -life under the most favourable possible circumstances, to eliminate all -possible disadvantages. She was filled with anger against all these -people, and a strong proletarian desire to retaliate, to repay their -indifference, their ignorance of her life and of her heart, with -arrogance, with bitterness. It was not a new feeling; she had had it -often before, for Miss Amy, for Lawrence, for other people less -important to her. It was the immeasurable resentment of a gentle and -fine spirit against the inferior people who oppress it.</p> - -<p class="cdtts">. . . . . . . . . .</p> - -<p class="cdtts">. . . . . . . . . .</p> - -<p>She heard the sound of a motor drawing up outside, then the bell rang, -and she saw the parlour maid hurry through the hall to open the door.</p> - -<p>“There’s a lady waiting to see you, ma’am,” she heard her say, and -Caroline said:</p> - -<p>“Ma gracious! At <i>this</i> time of night!”</p> - -<p>Then, from where she sat, she could see the slim feet and ankles of -Caroline ascending the stairs, and in a moment Mrs. Allanby entered.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_280">{280}</a></span></p> - -<p>She actually turned pale, perhaps for the first time in her life.</p> - -<p>“Oh!” she cried. “Oh ... you ... Mrs. Iverson.... Please sit down!”</p> - -<p>Rosaleen was glad to do so, because her knees were weak. And for some -time they sat opposite each other, their eyes averted, saying not a -word. Mrs. Allanby grey haired and elegant, in her black crêpe de chine, -Rosaleen dejected, pensive, worn.</p> - -<p>“I wanted to speak to you before I saw Nick,” she said, suddenly. “I -wanted to see....”</p> - -<p>“Yes?” said Mrs. Allanby, encouragingly. A wild hope had sprung up in -her that perhaps Rosaleen didn’t <i>wish</i> to marry Nick, that perhaps she -had fallen in love with some undesirable person like herself.</p> - -<p>“I suppose you’d like to make the best of a bad bargain?” said Rosaleen.</p> - -<p>These words struck Mrs. Allanby forcibly; they destroyed her hope -completely. She murmured:</p> - -<p>“If it’s a bad bargain, why make it?”</p> - -<p>Rosaleen ignored this.</p> - -<p>“He’ll ask me to marry him,” she said, “and I’ll say ‘yes’.... But there -are—a lot of difficulties....”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said Mrs. Allanby, quickly. “You are frank with me, Mrs. Iverson, -and Ah shall be frank<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_281">{281}</a></span> with you. There <i>are</i> a great many difficulties. -It’s not ... no; it’s not a suitable match for either of you. Ah don’t -think—in fact, Ah’m <i>sure</i> you’d neither of you be happy. If you will -weigh the disadvantages....”</p> - -<p>“Nobody could possibly know the disadvantages better than I do!” said -Rosaleen. “But ... we’ve ... liked each other for a long time, and -nothing can stop us now. We’re surely going to be married.... And it -needn’t be so bad, if you’ll help me. That’s what I came for—to ask you -to help me. Will you, Mrs. Allanby?”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Allanby was astounded.</p> - -<p>“But ... Ah don’t see how you can expect me to help you!” she said, -“when—Ah would prefer—for it not to take place.”</p> - -<p>“But it <i>will</i> take place! That’s just the point! You’re fond of Nick. -You want things to go well for him. That’s what I meant by making the -best of a bad bargain.”</p> - -<p>“Ma dear,” said Mrs. Allanby. “Ah wish you would listen to me. Ah’m so -much older than you. Ah know—the world. Marriages like this <i>can’t</i> be -happy. It’s been tried over and over again; people like you and -Nick——”</p> - -<p>“There never were two people <i>just</i> like us. Everybody’s different,” -said Rosaleen, struggling with her<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_282">{282}</a></span> thought. “Anyway, really and truly, -Mrs. Allanby, it’s no use pointing out all that. You couldn’t say -anything I don’t know. And, after all, <i>I’m</i> the one it’ll be hardest -for. <i>I’m</i> the one who’ll have to struggle, and learn, and change -myself. <i>I’m</i> the one with all the handicaps.”</p> - -<p>She paused for a moment. She thought of her barren and desolate life, of -the terrible future stretching before her. And this woman was asking her -to give up her unique solace and hope, was ready to argue with this -perishing creature as to whether it should seize the rope flung out as -it drowned.</p> - -<p>“Why!” she cried, appalled, outraged. “Can’t you think of <i>me</i> for an -instant? What could I do? How could I go on—without him?... Why should -I give him up? How can you possibly ask me to?”</p> - -<p>“For his sake,” said Mrs. Allanby. “If you love him, you must be willing -to sacrifice yourself.”</p> - -<p>“I’ve been sacrificing myself until there’s hardly anything <i>left</i> of -me!” she cried passionately. “And it’s never done anyone any good. -People just ask me as a matter of course.... But <i>not</i> this time.... Why -should I? He’s known me for years and years. He hasn’t cared for anyone -else. Well, have I done him any harm? Have I had a bad influence?<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_283">{283}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“No, ma dear, of cou’se not. Ah’m not saying anything whatever against -<i>you</i>.”</p> - -<p>“Except that I’m not good enough.... Now then, <i>please</i>, Mrs. Allanby, -won’t you look at it this way for a minute? I could just as well marry -Nick to-morrow——”</p> - -<p>She stopped for an instant.</p> - -<p>“And I <i>will</i>,” she went on, with downcast eyes, “if I can’t get you to -help me.... But I want to make the best of it. I want us to—to have our -chance....”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Allanby was beaten. She saw that she couldn’t stop this thing. She -had either to make a futile struggle which would certainly antagonise -Nick, or she must, as Rosaleen said, make the best of a bad bargain.</p> - -<p>“What did you think Ah would do?” she asked with a smothered sigh.</p> - -<p>A flush came into Rosaleen’s pallid face. She had won! And at once she -grew gentler.</p> - -<p>“First of all, if you’d lend me enough money to send my sister and her -family to Philadelphia, and get them settled there,” she said. “I don’t -mean that I’m—trying to get rid of them, or anything like that. I want -to help them always, and I’m sure Nick will, too. But it’s far better -for them not to be here—for him not to see them again.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_284">{284}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“And what else?”</p> - -<p>“And then ... if you’ll teach me things—show me how to dress, and to -act and all that...? Before I marry Nick?”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Allanby was silent for a while, struggling with her profound -disappointment. At last, with a long, inward sigh:</p> - -<p>“He might have done worse!” she said to herself, and held out her hand -to Rosaleen with a charming smile.</p> - -<h4>III</h4> - -<p><span class="smcap">Rosaleen</span> went down the steps of the house with a strange feeling of -coldness. A hard, scheming woman, that’s what she was, determined to use -whatever advantage a niggardly fate had given her. Not a loving or -tender thought was in her head, nothing but her odious triumph.</p> - -<p>She reached the street and was half-way along the block when she saw him -coming. She knew him, even in the dark, his heavy, vehement stride, the -soft hat pulled so low over his eyes, the unbuttoned overcoat swaying -from his big shoulders. And her frigidity suddenly melted, gave place to -a sort of alarm. She wanted to hide, to avoid him, an impossible desire -in that decorous and deserted street. There was nothing to do but to -advance. She came<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_285">{285}</a></span> abreast of him, but he didn’t turn his head. It never -occurred to him that Rosaleen could be here, near his own home, at this -hour. It was simply a woman passerby. He went on.... And suddenly heard -her running after him.</p> - -<p>“Mr. Landry,” she cried, with a little laugh. “Don’t you <i>know</i> me?”</p> - -<p>He wheeled about, startled.</p> - -<p>“I didn’t expect you to be here,” he said. “I’ve just come from your -sister’s. I waited there.... I wanted to see you.”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” she said, “and <i>I</i> wanted to see <i>you</i>. I’ve been having a talk -with your aunt.”</p> - -<p>“What about?” he asked, hastily.</p> - -<p>“Oh.... Let’s walk over into the Park and talk?”</p> - -<p>He assented, rather ungraciously, because he would have preferred making -the suggestion himself, and they turned down the next cross street and -into a deserted and solitary walk in the Park. It was a harsh and -blustery night; no rain was falling, but the walks were wet and -glistening and the bare branches shook down chilly drops when the wind -blew. There was no one about; they had the place to themselves, and Nick -selected a bench near a light, where he could see her face—if he -wished.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_286">{286}</a></span> He took a newspaper from his overcoat pocket and spread it for -her to sit on.</p> - -<p>“Now,” he said. “Let’s hear what you had to say to Aunt Emmie!”</p> - -<p>His tone wasn’t pleasant; this visit had made him suspicious and uneasy.</p> - -<p>“I wanted ... no, I’d rather not tell you....” said Rosaleen.</p> - -<p>“Very well!” he said briefly.</p> - -<p>He slouched down, his hands thrust deep in his pockets, looking at the -trees and shrubs before him absurdly illuminated by the electric light. -Like scenery on the stage, he thought, except that the colours were too -drab and indefinite.... He felt extraordinarily miserable, sorrowful, -irritated. He began to feel sorry for this partner of his dreary -romance.</p> - -<p>“You’ll marry me at once, won’t you, Rosaleen?” he asked, with an -innocent sort of kindness. And instead of answering as he had expected, -she cried suddenly—</p> - -<p>“<i>Why?</i>”</p> - -<p>He tried his best to say “Because we love each other,” but he could not -utter the words. A gust of wind brought down a shower from the tree -behind them, pattering with sudden violence on his hat.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page_287">{287}</a></span></p> -<p>“Well...” he said, irresolutely, “I ... we’re too—mature to be very -sentimental, aren’t we, Rosaleen?... I mean—we <i>like</i> each other ... we -get on well together....”</p> - -<p>“How do you know? We’ve never tried.”</p> - -<p>“We would, I’m sure.... There’s no use in talking and talking about the -thing. We wanted to get married, and now, at last, we can.”</p> - -<p>“Perhaps—we don’t want to. Perhaps it’s too late.”</p> - -<p>“Nonsense!” he said, brusquely, but horribly without conviction. He had -<i>nothing</i> to say, really; he was unable to plead, to argue, even to -discuss. Another melancholy shower came down on them, and he rose.</p> - -<p>“Better not sit here,” he said. “You’ll be drenched.”</p> - -<p>She didn’t answer. He waited a few minutes, then he said, a little -impatiently:</p> - -<p>“Come! You’d better not sit here!”</p> - -<p>He was desperate to escape from this intolerable situation. He bent over -to take her by the hand and raise her to her feet, when he observed that -she was wiping her eyes with a crumpled handkerchief.</p> - -<p>“What’s the matter?” he asked, gently.</p> - -<p>He could hardly believe his ears.</p> - -<p>“<i>What!</i>” he cried, startled.</p> - -<p>And she repeated her amazing phrase.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_288">{288}</a></span></p> - -<p>“You’ve <i>cheated</i> me,” she sobbed.</p> - -<p>“But how?” he demand. “In what way? What <i>do</i> you mean?”</p> - -<p>He had to sit down beside her again to hear her words.</p> - -<p>“I wanted you ... to be ... dear ... and loving,” she sobbed.</p> - -<p>“To be <i>dear</i> and <i>loving</i>,” he repeated, in astonishment.</p> - -<p>And suddenly she stretched out her arms toward him. He faltered, for an -instant, and then he caught her tightly in a compassionate embrace. He -was so sorry for the weeping and sorrowful woman. She strained herself -close against him, with her arms about his neck, still sobbing a little, -her soft hair brushed against his face.... His compassion began to go, -began to merge into a passionate tenderness. He kissed her with delight, -with rapture, this sweet and mysterious woman.... He drew her head down -on his breast, and looked at her in the strained, thin light high -overhead. He lost himself in the radiance of her eyes, the curves of her -patient and tender mouth; he kissed her again, and was startled at the -texture of her skin. Her hair was like a misty halo about her face; her -eyes met his with a look which he could not comprehend, but which -thrilled him beyond measure.... He had here the<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_289">{289}</a></span> answer to all his -miserable perplexity. Never once during all the time he had known her -had he held her like this. He hadn’t even had the sense to realise that -he wished to do so. And not knowing this, he had known nothing. This -ecstasy was the reason, was the very core and heart of the situation.</p> - -<p>“I love you,” he said, with absolute conviction, absolute sincerity. She -raised her head and gave him a sudden, fierce little kiss.</p> - -<p>“What was the <i>matter</i> with us this evening?” she cried. “How could we -have been so stupid, after we’ve loved each other so long?”</p> - -<p>It was just that, the long thwarting and crushing of their love, that -had so wounded them both. That love, without a sign, without so much as -a hand-clasp, starved, chilled, denied, had grown morose and fearful. It -was only now, with her pitiful and lovely feminine gesture, that she had -broken down the barrier between them. Their love had nothing to do with -suitability and expediency, as known to them: it was suitable and -expedient according to a plan older and subtler than the social one of -which they were aware. They were the one man and the one woman. There -was something between them indestructible and inexplicable, something -sturdier and deeper than desire and yet whose root was in desire.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_290">{290}</a></span></p> - -<p>Rosaleen, thrilled and exultant as she was, was nevertheless a woman, -and forever anxious.</p> - -<p>“You’re <i>sure</i>?” she asked. “You’re <i>sure</i> I won’t ruin your life if I -marry you?”</p> - -<p>“I’m sure you’ll ruin my life if you <i>don’t</i>!” he said.</p> - -<p>They saw nothing but the life that lay before them: they had forgotten -all that had gone by: they had forgotten the past, as much a part of -their eternal existence as anything which might yet come.</p> - -<p class="fint">THE END</p> - -<table id="transcrib" style="padding:2%;border:3px dotted gray;"> -<tr><th>Typographical errors corrected by the etext transcriber:</th></tr> -<tr><td> -<p>For it not the love Lawrence meant.=> For it was not the love Lawrence -meant. {pg 234}</p> - -<p>beside which stook a great=> beside which stood a great {pg 240}</p> -</td></tr> -</table> - -<hr class="full" /> -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ROSALEEN AMONG THE ARTISTS ***</div> -<div style='text-align:left'> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law 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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