For some time after the merry dinner in Robert Stafford's beautiful
apartment Virginia saw but little of her wealthy suitor. In fact, she
rather avoided him, preferring not to give the appearance of
encouraging him, firstly because she had not yet made up her mind
regarding the honor he had done her, secondly because it was not
always easy to invent excuses for further delay in arriving at a
decision. Yet, situated as she was, it was not possible to hide from
him altogether. There were daily duties to be performed; the business
routine of every day must go on. When in the hotel or its neighborhood
Stafford never neglected an opportunity to see her, or when he was not
able to come himself he sent her flowers, books and candy, paying her
every delicate attention in the nicest and most considerate way
possible.
As soon as was practicable, she resigned her position at the hotel,
taking this step not so much to avoid the railroad promoter, but
because she did not wish to furnish anyone with the slightest pretext
for criticism. The world is quick to censure. People could not help
noticing that the millionaire spent a great deal more time at Miss
Blaine's desk than was necessary to transact legitimate business, and
it would not be long before the gossips got busy to her disparagement.
For that reason she preferred to resign. Besides, it would be fairer
to him. He had not even hinted at her taking such a course, but if she
was to consider his proposal of marriage seriously--and each day the
conviction grew stronger that it was her destiny--it was only proper
that she should retire at once into private life and give people time
to forget what she was before she became Robert Stafford's wife.
But while this judicious step naturally resulted in a serious
curtailment of her income, she was not idle. She helped Fanny in the
millinery store, and, in order to keep herself in pocket money, gave
private lessons to beginners. These tasks kept her fully occupied, and
what with her studies and household duties the days went by cheerfully
enough.
Stafford was a regular and welcome caller at the Blaine home. He often
came to take the sisters out for a spin in his splendid new touring
car, a forty-horse-power Mercedes, and sometimes he would telephone
from downtown and arrange for a little theatre party with supper
afterwards at one of the fashionable night restaurants of the Great
White Way.
Fanny and Jimmie looked upon the couple as if they were engaged and
treated Stafford accordingly, addressing him with the easy familiarity
of a future brother-in-law, an attitude which he himself tactfully
encouraged. He went out of his way to be amiable to Fanny, flattering
her and making her presents, and encouraging Jimmie to talk of his
wonderful ideas. Moreover, he gave him plainly to understand that,
once Virginia and he were married, the shipping clerk's impecunious
days would be over and a comfortable berth would be awaiting him in
his office at a salary commensurate with his exceptional ability.
This semi-promise was enough for Jimmie. From that moment on he was a
changed man and Virginia knew no peace. He insisted that she was
treating Stafford unfairly. If she did not want to marry him she
should say so, and if she did intend to marry him she should be
willing to name the day. As it was, she was standing in the way of her
sister's prosperity and happiness. At the same time Fanny also added
her powers of persuasion. Between the two Virginia felt that she had
not much will of her own left.
Thus the weeks passed, Stafford respectful and devoted, but daily
growing more restive and impatient, urging his suit, refusing to be
discouraged, waiting eagerly for the day when she would respond to his
passionate pleading and throw herself without restraint into his arms.
Meantime Fanny and Jimmie, having arrived at the conclusion that the
prospects were bright and that they had been engaged long enough,
suddenly decided to get married. Fourteen dollars a week--the weekly
income of the bridegroom--did not allow of the setting up of a very
elaborate establishment, but, as the clerk explained privately to his
bride, it was only a question of time when Virginia would become Mrs.
Stafford and then it would be smooth sailing for them all. Stafford
had promised him a fat job at a salary worth while, and that could not
possibly mean less than fifty dollars a week.
"He wouldn't have the cheek to offer me less than fifty per," said
Jimmie confidently.
All of which sounded very hopeful to Fanny, who, however, was shrewd
enough to make no mention to her sensitive sister of her intended's
sanguine expectations.
They were married at the little Roman Catholic church in 125th Street,
Virginia being the solitary bridesmaid, while Stafford--willing enough
to enter into the spirit of the occasion and taking a chance that in
such a remote neighborhood no one would recognize him--acted as best
man. The bride looked pretty and self-composed, while Jimmie was a
picture of masculine magnificence in a new frock coat, patent-leather
shoes, white tie, silk hat and a collar so high that he could not turn
his head round. After the ceremony, they all dined gaily at Claremont
at Stafford's expense and then the newly married couple left for
Atlantic City, where the brief honeymoon was to be spent--on slender
savings which Fanny had carefully hoarded for some time.
Virginia cried bitterly as her sister drove away. It was the first
time that they had been separated; she felt as if she was losing the
last friend she had in the world. Stafford, full of kindly sympathy,
tried to console her. Gently he whispered:
"Don't cry, dear. Don't you see how happy she is? You wouldn't rob her
of that happiness, would you?"
"No, indeed," she sobbed.
He bent down closer and whispered:
"One day--she will be kissing her hand to you as you drive away in
your bridal robes."
She made no answer and he pressed for some response.
"Won't she?" he pleaded.
Her eyes still fixed on the cab, now fast disappearing in the
distance, she murmured:
"Perhaps."
"When will that be?" he went on eagerly.
She shook her head, irritated at his persistence at such a moment.
"I do not know," she replied coldly.
Thus far, Stafford had succeeded in keeping from his friends any
intimation of his matrimonial plans, but it was hardly possible to
keep the secret much longer. He and Virginia had been seen together in
public places; his many visits to her house were known. Her sudden
resignation from the hotel also had excited comment. People began to
connect their names in a way unflattering to both. Such slanderous
rumors must be stopped at any cost, thought Stafford to himself, and
one evening at Delmonico's, while in a jovial, communicative mood, an
opportunity came to unbosom himself freely to his friend Hadley. It
was the latter's birthday and they were duly celebrating the occasion
as three bottles of _Veuve Clicquot_, standing empty on the
table, bore mute witness.
Stafford had been drinking freely. His face was flushed and his voice
was thick, familiar symptoms when he had imbibed more wine than was
good for him. The secret came out suddenly owing to a chance remark
dropped by Hadley, who, sober himself and speaking of women in
general, argued that girls who were compelled by necessity to earn
their own living formed a class by themselves. They could not be
classed with the domesticated girl of good family because they were
open to temptations and contaminating influences which the latter
escaped. Coming in close contact with the busy, feverish world,
associating on terms of daily intimacy with all kinds of men, the
naturally high moral sense of the virtuous woman must necessarily
become blunted in her new business surroundings.
"Once the bloom is off a woman's moral sense," he argued, "it is only
a step to the undermining of her virtue. It's inevitable," he went on
as he sat back in his chair idly enjoying his cigar. "The home is the
young girl's only protection. Take her out of it and you expose her to
the manoeuvres of the first scoundrel who comes along. If she's
temperamentally cold, she'll resist the seducer successfully; but if
she's weak and pleasure-loving, she'll succumb and the devil will have
won over another convert. Take, for instance, those stenographers in
your hotel. That Miss Blaine--she's as pretty as--"
Crash!
There was a blow of a heavy fist falling on the table. The dishes
danced, glasses fell in splinters on to the floor. Hadley, startled,
turned round. Stafford, his handsome face flushed from the champagne,
but now tense and angry, was looking at him fiercely:
"Take care, old chap, how you talk of Miss Blaine! She's going to be
my wife!"
"Your wife!" exclaimed Hadley, removing his cigar from his mouth in
sheer surprise.
"Yes, my wife," repeated Stafford grimly. "What about it?"
"Nothing--nothing at all, my dear fellow," he stammered, looking
narrowly at his companion to see if he was sober, "allow me to
congratulate you."
There was an awkward pause. Then suddenly Stafford broke into a loud
peal of laughter. His momentary ill humor had passed. Unable to
account for the sudden change of mood, Hadley came to the conclusion
that the railroad man was enjoying a joke at his expense.
"You were guying me, eh?" he laughed.
Stafford hiccoughed and shook his head. With drunken gravity he
replied:
"No, siree--sure as your life--she's going to marry me."
Calling the waiter, he motioned to him to open another bottle of wine.
"We'll drink to her health, Hadley, old top. Nicest girl in the
world!"
The champagne was uncorked and the railroad promoter poured out the
wine with an unsteady hand. Lifting his glass he cried with mock
sentimentality:
"To Virginia--my bride!"
The men touched glasses and Stafford, putting his glass to his lips,
drained it at one gulp. Hadley stared at him in growing amazement. He
saw his friend was drunk, but this was the first time he had suspected
him of losing his senses.
"And how long has this been going on?" exclaimed his companion when he
had recovered somewhat from his amazement.
Stafford laughed.
"Ever since that day you were in my rooms at the hotel," he
hiccoughed. "Didn't I tell you that I contemplated matrimony? Don't
you remember?"
"I didn't believe you. I thought you were joking. I never thought you
were the marrying sort."
"Why not?" spluttered the railroad man in an injured tone.
Hadley looked his friend straight in the face. He was not the kind of
a man to shrink from telling a friend the truth.
"Do you want the truth?" he said slowly. "Well--you're too fond of
your pleasures--too selfish! That's frank--but it's the truth.
Selfishness keeps most men single. They're afraid to lose their
liberty. When you marry you can say good-bye to your freedom."
"Who said so?" exclaimed Stafford, his face redder than ever, his lips
tightening.
Hadley carelessly flecked the ash from his cigar. Calmly he replied:
"Your wife will expect it. She'll have a right to expect it."
Stafford smiled as he poured out another glass of wine. Grimly he
said:
"You don't know me, Hadley, not after all these years, or you wouldn't
talk like that. I'm not the man to be bullied or tyrannized or even
lectured by a woman. My wife and I will understand each other
perfectly. I shall make that quite plain from the outset. It's only
right. I give my wife--my name, my fortune. I expect in return
something from my wife. I think I've found just the right kind of
girl--unspoiled by society notions, sensible on every point--"
"Even on that of letting you have your own way?" laughed Hadley.
"Precisely. She is ideal in every particular. Clever, amiable, good
looking, not too strait-laced--she's just the girl I want. Don't you
remember," he hiccoughed, "it was you yourself who recommended her--"
"As a secretary," said Hadley dryly.
Once more Stafford emptied his glass. He had already drunk too much,
but he still had his wits about him. Laughing boisterously at his
friend's sarcasm, he quickly retorted:
"As a secretary--precisely--and I've engaged her--for life."
Again filling his glass, he went rambling on:
"You and the other fellows at the club may chaff me all you choose.
I'm going to marry her and that's all there is to it. I'm my own
master, do you understand? I have no family--no inquisitive,
meddlesome relatives, thank God! If this marriage is going to cost me
what friends I have--all right--let them keep away! Such friends are
not worth having, anyway. My mind is made up and you know me. Once I
make up my mind, nothing can alter it." Determinedly he added: "I'll
marry her even if she refuses me--"
"Refuses you?" smiled Hadley cynically; "surely you don't anticipate
anything of that sort. Girls don't refuse millionaires nowadays."
Stafford's face clouded again. With an impatient gesture he cried:
"That's just the kind of rot you fellows talk! You don't know
Virginia. She's not the sort of girl to be influenced in that way. If
she were, she'd have said 'yes' at once. I understand her perfectly.
She's still uncertain if she cares enough for me. I respect her all
the more for her reserve. I'd rather that than have a girl throw
herself at me merely for my money." Carelessly he added: "Oh, I'm not
worrying. We're getting along all right. It's only a question of time
now--"
Hadley did not know what to say. Evidently any advice he could have
given on the subject was now too late. All he could think of was to
mutter:
"Well--congratulations--old sport!"
Stafford, no longer crossed, broke into a smile once more. Leaning
tipsily over towards his friend, his face flushed, his eyes sparkling,
he hiccoughed:
"Say, Hadley, she's a winner! Those big black eyes of hers are enough
to drive any man crazy; and that figure! Can you blame me, Hadley? Can
you blame me? Here, drink up!"
"No," said his companion, disgusted and pushing his glass away. "I've
had enough and so have you. It's getting late. Let's go."
Stafford made no reply, but, calling the waiter, proceeded to settle
for the dinner. While he was thus engaged, Hadley watched him in
irritated silence.
"_In vino veritas_!" he mused to himself. Truly the wine had
spoken plainly. The cloven hoof was clearly visible. It was not so
much the congenial companion, the soul-mate which Robert Stafford saw
in Virginia Blaine as it was a lovely young animal for the
gratification of his lust, his appetites. What marriage, based on that
idea, could be a happy one? He felt sorry for the girl. If he knew her
well or cared enough, he would warn her that his friend was not the
marrying kind of man. Of course, Stafford would do the honorable
thing, go through a marriage ceremony, make a handsome settlement and
all that sort of thing; but when it came to leading a quiet, regular,
domesticated life, he simply was incapable of it--that's all. He had
enjoyed liberty too long to wear the harness now. He was too much of
the _viveur_, too fond of his club, his poker parties and little
midnight suppers with fair ladies. Once the novelty of marriage had
worn off, he would return to the old life and then there would be the
devil to pay. The wife would find it out, there would be a row, with
court proceedings, alimony and all the rest of it. Or perhaps she
would suffer and say nothing, as so many do. Anyway, he was sorry for
the girl.
Stafford looked at him and laughed boisterously.
"What's the matter, old top? You're as serious to-day as some
bewhiskered old college professor. Stop your philosophizing and let's
have some more wine. I'll match you for another bottle. Come, now."
Hadley shook his head and rose.
"No more for me," he said firmly. "You don't want any, either. Let's
go."
"Which direction are you going?"
"Up Fifth Avenue. Coming my way?"
"Yesh--I'm with you--only I must stop in Forty-second Street first--at
a jeweller's--to get a ring I ordered." Grinning stupidly at Hadley,
he went on: "Great idea--diamonds! You can do anything with a woman if
you give her all the jewels she wants! See, my boy?"
A few minutes more and the two men, the taller one of whom walked
somewhat unsteadily, were on Fifth Avenue, making their way towards
Forty-second Street.
Ten days later there appeared among the society notes of the New York
_Herald_ this paragraph:
"Robert Stafford, the well-known railroad promoter, was married
yesterday at St. Patrick's Cathedral to Virginia Blaine, second
daughter of the late John Blaine, once a well-known lawyer of this
city. The ceremony was strictly private, the marriage being known only
to a few intimate friends. The young couple sailed yesterday afternoon
for Europe on their honeymoon."