As the door slammed, leaving her alone with her husband, Virginia felt
herself grow hot and cold by turns. Desperate, she looked around to
see if there was anywhere she could go, but there was no escape
possible. Practically she was a prisoner, at the mercy of a man who,
his worst instincts aroused by wine, was temporarily another being.
His naturally generous impulses, his gentlemanly bearing, his kindly
consideration for the weaker sex, all that was momentarily cast to the
winds and like the savage beast, unaccustomed to control his
appetites, he stopped at nothing in a wild, passionate madness to
gratify his brutal desires.
It was horrible, revolting, yet what could she do? The law gave this
man certain rights over her. Was not she herself largely to blame? Had
she not sold herself to a man she did not love without even the excuse
of necessity to sanction the disgraceful barter of flesh and honor?
And what made it the more cruel was that gradually love had come into
her life. Yes, she was sure of it now. In spite of his neglect, his
indifference, she loved him and it was just because she loved him that
it broke her heart to see him degrade his manhood.
The distant sounds of the Gillies and the servants retiring died away.
The lights throughout the big house were extinguished one by one. A
heavy silence fell over everything. Growing more nervous each instant,
Virginia watched her husband furtively. If only he, too, would say
good-night and go to his room! At present he seemed to be in no hurry
to depart, and yet he did not appear to be thinking about her, being
still highly amused by what Jimmie had said. Suddenly bursting into
laughter, he exclaimed:
"His brain! Ha! ha! Good night! Jimmie's brain! Ah, that's rich!"
Virginia went back to her dressing table, where she pretended to be
busily occupied combing her hair. He followed her, still laughing.
When his merriment had somewhat subsided, he hiccoughed:
"That boy's more fun to me! I wouldn't lose his company for anything
in the world! From the very first day he came to work for me he's been
full of suggestions. They've all been good. One of them--one of them
made me laugh for a week. I even laugh now whenever I think of it--"
He leaned awkwardly over her chair and Virginia instinctively
recoiled. His flushed face and tainted breath frightened and disgusted
her. Each instant she feared that he would take her in his arms. To
avoid him, she rose from the dressing table and crossing the room, sat
down on the sofa. He followed her, still laughing.
"You'll enjoy it too--so listen!" he said. Raising his voice and in a
tone of command he went on: "Listen now, because you'll enjoy it. He
wanted me--"
He halted again, unable to continue for laughing, as he thought of
some of his employee's crazy notions. Then, proceeding, he said:
"You'll enjoy it. Such a joke! The man's as mad as a March hare. He
wanted me--to put up a factory--"
He tried to complete the sentence; but the absurdity of the
proposition was too much for him. He laughed till his face ached,
while Virginia sat silent, watching him sideways. When he had calmed
down, he said:
"It's the funniest thing I ever heard! You'll enjoy it too! He wanted
me to put up a factory--to make infants' food out of prickly pears--"
Once more he was unable to proceed for laughter. "Infants' food!
Prickly pears! Isn't that immense? Isn't that the funniest idea
that--"
Noticing that Virginia did not join in his merriment, he stopped and
asked:
"Don't you think it's funny?"
"Yes, dear. It probably is," she answered evasively.
"There's no 'probably' about it--it certainly is," he insisted. "I
don't think you got it, so I'll tell it again. He wanted me to put up
a factory--"
"I understood," she interrupted coldly.
He looked at her closely, as if unable to understand her cold
indifference.
"Well--don't you think it's funny?"
Wearily she answered:
"Yes, dear, it is."
"You don't seem to enjoy it," he grumbled.
She made no reply for a moment, at a loss what to say, anxious to
avoid saying anything that would furnish him with an excuse for a
scene. Her only hope was in keeping him in good humor and persuading
him to retire. It would be terrible if she had to endure the same
horrible experience with him as on former occasions when he came home
in this condition. Rising, she said quietly:
"I'm very tired, so I think I'll say good-night, dear."
She went towards her bedroom door, but before she could reach it, he
had intercepted her. There was a determined, not to be denied look in
his face as he exclaimed:
"Not just yet! Not just yet!"
Trembling in every limb, but endeavoring to remain calm, she looked up
at him pleadingly:
"Please let me go," she said coaxingly. "Be a nice, good husband and
say good-night--won't you, dear, please?"
He put his arm around her waist. Hoarsely, amorously, he whispered:
"Stay with me a little--I want you here."
"No, dear--please, dear!" she pleaded, quickly disentangling herself
from his grasp. "You'll make me so happy if you will! Besides, it's
quite late, remember, and I'm tired--I really am--"
He stood off a little way, looking more closely at her as if doubtful
that she was speaking the truth.
"Tired, are you?" he frowned.
"Yes, dear," she pleaded anxiously.
He laughed--a strange, horrid, artificial laugh which made her
shudder. She had heard that laugh before and it omened nothing good.
Quickly he said:
"I know the best thing in the world to cure that tired
feeling--champagne. We'll have some--what do you say?"
He leaned towards her, trying to fondle her, but she avoided him and,
falling back, stood looking at him. Her face was pale. Outwardly she
was composed, but her heart was beating fast. There must be some
explanation, after all. It might as well be now as later. Looking him
straight in the face with an expression of contempt and disdain in her
eyes that made him wince, she said coldly:
"So you've had some sent to your room--again?"
He nodded in half defiant, half ashamed fashion and Virginia, her tone
changing, pleaded with him earnestly:
"Don't touch it now, Robert. Please! Please!"
"Why not?" he demanded defiantly.
"You've had enough already."
"Oh, nonsense!" he exclaimed, "I'm all right. I can take twice as much
as I've had and not even feel it." Going towards the door he added:
"I'll tell Oku to bring it in here--"
She ran quickly to intercept him. That was just what she dreaded. If
he touched another drop he would be beyond control. It must be
prevented at any cost.
"No, Robert! No!" she pleaded.
Stafford stopped and stared at her in amazement.
"What's the matter?" he demanded.
"Don't take any more," she said, laying a hand coaxingly on his arm.
"Please, dear! It isn't good for you."
"Good for me!" he laughed. "Don't you worry about that. I know what's
good for me!" Determinedly he added: "I want that wine and I'm going
to have it."
"Then say good-night," she replied with what self-possession she could
command, "and take it in your own room."
He looked at her stupidly.
"Drink alone?" he hiccoughed. "And you right here? Well, I guess
not--"
He was standing at the door and as he spoke his hand happened to touch
the key. Suddenly an idea occurred to him. She might try to get away.
If he had the key, he would command the situation. Unobserved by his
wife, he noiselessly withdrew the key from the lock and slipped it in
his pocket. Carelessly he went on:
"Where'd be the fun of that? No, we'll have it in here and we'll have
a little party--just you and me! A little party! Eh?"
He went towards her, arms outstretched, his eyes ardent. As he
advanced she retreated to the farther side of the room.
"Please don't!" she exclaimed, opening her eyes wide in terror.
He halted.
"Why not?" he demanded.
Hesitatingly and in a low tone she answered:
"I remember--the last time."
"When was that?"
"About a week ago!"
"Well," he demanded in a surly tone, "what about it?"
"Don't you remember?"
"No," he answered sullenly.
She turned away in mute despair. Utterly discouraged, completely in
his power, she was at a loss what to do or say. There was little use
in appealing to the better nature of a man, in his present condition.
She thought of flight, but it was impossible. He barred the way.
Meanwhile he watched her, as a beast of prey watches its hapless
victim. His ardent eyes feasted on her white neck, gloated on the
lines of her body, revealed by the thin gown. He was too intent on his
lustful purpose to be really conscious of the pain he was inflicting.
He mistook her resistance for coquettishness. Approaching her, he bent
over and whispered persuasively in her ear:
"What's the good of thinking about that, anyway? There's no time like
the present, so I'll have Oku bring it in and I'll drink to your
pretty eyes. My, but you look sweet to-night! I'll ring for Oku."
He started towards the door and had almost reached it when he heard a
movement and rustle of skirts behind him. Turning quickly, he saw
Virginia standing at the entrance to her own bedroom, as if hesitating
as to whether to go into it or not. Her first impulse had been to take
refuge in there and bolt herself in. But it seemed so cowardly, so
undignified. So she stopped on the threshold and just looked at him in
silence, and for a few moments neither spoke. At last he said:
"You won't run away?"
Slowly, deliberately, he advanced towards her. Virginia, cowed,
intimidated, stood still as if glued to the spot. Impatiently he
exclaimed:
"It wouldn't be a pretty thing for you to run away from your husband!
So you won't do it, will you?"
She made no answer, and he repeated more loudly:
"Will you?"
She looked up at him bravely. Her face was white, but determined.
Almost defiantly, she replied:
"No. I won't run away."
"That's the way to talk," he cried and going to the door leading to
the outside hall, he opened it and called out:
"Oku, open the wine and bring it in here--two glasses."
Returning, he sat down, waiting for the butler to bring the champagne.
His face was more flushed than ever. Instead of having a sobering
effect, his wife's resistance seemed only to inflame him more. But
just now his thoughts were not so much on her as on her
brother-in-law.
"Oku's--a good boy," he hiccoughed. "A very--good boy. But he isn't
half as funny as Jimmie. It's worth twice Jimmie's salary just to have
him around to make me laugh. How he does make me laugh! He doesn't
know that I'm laughing at him, but I know it. That's what makes it so
funny--"
He was interrupted by the appearance of Oku with wine and glasses,
which the butler placed on the table.
"Shall I serve?" asked the servant.
"Yes, fill 'em up," replied his master.
After he had drawn the cork and filled the glasses with the hissing,
golden beverage, Stafford stammered thickly:
"That's--all for you--to-night."
"I must not wait?" inquired Oku.
"No! I'll ring--when I want you in the morning."
"Yes! Excuse, please. Excuse!"
The butler bowed himself out of the room and the millionaire, turning
to his wife, pushed one of the glasses over to her. Then, raising his
own glass to his lips, he gave her a toast:
"Here's to you, sweetheart!"
He drained the contents and put the glass down. As he did so he
noticed that her glass was untouched.
"You didn't drink!" he exclaimed in a surprised, aggrieved tone.
"No," she replied firmly.
"Aren't you going to?"
"No."
"Oh, go on--just a glass," he said coaxingly.
"No," she said again coldly.
"Why not?" he demanded, slightly raising his voice.
"Because I don't wish to," she answered with dignity.
"Is that so?" he said mockingly. Filling another glass and drinking,
he added: "Suppose I wanted you to? Would you take it then?"
She shook her head.
"No, dear--"
"Would you?" he persisted.
"No."
"You wouldn't?"
"No, I wouldn't!" she said positively. "I don't like it--I don't want
it, and even you couldn't make me take it."
She rose abruptly and turned her back so that he might not see the
tears in her eyes--tears of mortification and mental anguish. His face
more congested than ever, his step uncertain, Stafford stumbled after
her:
"I couldn't, eh?" he sneered. "Perhaps you'd like to see me try."
She turned around, almost hysterical. Pleadingly she cried:
"Please don't speak to me like that, dear! It hurts me dreadfully. If
I didn't know that it isn't yourself who is talking--"
"Not myself? Then, who is it?"
"It's the man who takes your place when--you are drunk!"
Leaning against a table to steady himself, he stared at her stupidly.
"Well, what about this man?" he sneered. "You don't like him, do you?"
"No," she replied quickly and frankly, "I do not."
"Well, what are you going to do about it?"
She turned to go. Pleadingly she cried:
"Please let me go, dear! I'm very unhappy. Good night!"
She started to go towards her room, but he held up his hand and in a
tone of command, cried:
"Wait!"
Virginia paid no heed, and a second time in a louder voice he cried:
"Wait!"
She stopped involuntarily and after a pause he said:
"Don't you like to talk to me? Don't you?"
"Of course I do," she stammered.
"Then come and sit down and do it."
"I'm tired, dear," she pleaded.
But he was pitiless.
"Come and sit down here," he insisted, pointing to a chair near the
table. "There!" he exclaimed.
"But, Robert--" she protested.
He refused to listen.
"There!" he commanded.
Virginia reluctantly retraced her steps and though trembling with
mingled indignation and fear, obediently sat down on the chair he
indicated. Stafford, as if suddenly seized by an insatiable thirst for
champagne, refilled his glass a second time and swallowed the
contents. Then taking a seat opposite her, he leaned his head on his
two elbows and stared at her. For several moments he said nothing but
just stared in a way that made her turn red and white in turn.
Suddenly he blurted out:
"You looked great with the whole business on, but this fluffy thing--"
He leaned across the table and placing his hand on her bare shoulder,
drew his fingers voluptuously down the arm. Virginia started back,
feeling repulsion and disgust even at his touch.
"Oh! What's the matter?" he exclaimed sarcastically. "Is there
anything wrong in a man telling his wife she's pretty? Is there?"
She remained silent and, frowning, he repeated his question:
"Is there?"
"No," she said quickly.
"Then why do you want to quarrel with me?"
"I don't want to quarrel with you."
"Then we're friends, are we?"
"Yes."
Holding out an unsteady hand, he said:
"Then shake hands on it."
She made no response and he said again more commandingly:
"Come on now--shake hands on it."
Still she made no move.
"If you don't want to quarrel," he said warningly, "shake hands on
it."
Hesitatingly she put out her hand, which he immediately grasped.
"Good!" he exclaimed, rising. "And now let's kiss and make up!"
Virginia started up at the same time, and again turned to go to her
own room. But he still had hold of her hand and she could not withdraw
it. Tired out by the unequal struggle, nervous and almost in tears,
she tried in vain to release herself:
"I tell you I want to go," she cried impatiently.
But he merely laughed at her puny efforts. Soothingly he exclaimed:
"Let's kiss and make up! Come on now, kiss me, and that'll show we're
friends."
"I can't," she said, keeping her face averted.
"Can't--why?"
"For one thing," she retorted angrily, "the odor of stale wine and
whiskey isn't pleasant."
"Is there any other reason?" he demanded.
"There is--and a very important one. I don't want to kiss you."
"That means you don't love me. Is that it?"
For a moment she made no answer, but looked him full in the face, her
eyes blazing with scorn and anger. Then she spoke and raising her
voice until it rang with all the anger and bitterness there was pent
up in her heart she cried:
"I love the man I married--love him with all my heart and soul and he
loves me! But you are not the man I married; you are another man. You
are a stranger, a man inflamed with liquor, a man who comes and talks
to me of love when it isn't love at all, a man whose every
protestation of love is an insult. That's the man you are and I hate
him--I hate him--!"
Staggered by her vehemence, intimidated for a moment by her angry
outburst, Stafford let go her hand. Quick to profit by it, Virginia
turned, but before she could make a step, he had caught her again by
the arm.
"So you hate me, do you?" he exclaimed.
"Yes, I do!" she cried. "And now will you let me go?"
"No, I won't," he replied determinedly. "Even though you do hate me,
you're still my wife--you belong to me--"
She stared at him in amazement.
"Robert! What do you mean?" she cried.
Shrugging his shoulders contemptuously, he exclaimed:
"Who were you till I married you--nobody! What were you? A telephone
girl getting ten dollars a week. And now who are you? You're Mrs.
Robert Stafford! And what are you? You're the wife of one of the
richest men in the country. And how did he get you for his wife? He
bought you and he paid for you."
"You didn't!" she almost screamed, her face white with anger, her
whole being trembling with nervous excitement.
"Oh, yes, I did," he went on coldly. "Did you love me when you married
me? No. Would you have married me if I'd been poor? No! I bought you
and I paid for you and anything I've bought and paid for belongs to
me. And now will you kiss me?"
"No," she cried in desperation, her head thrown back, her hands
clenched. "I will not!"
He advanced threateningly.
"Then if you won't, I'll--"
He stopped abruptly and his manner changed. Shrugging his shoulders,
he exclaimed:
"Oh, what's the use of quarreling? I don't want to be mean to you. I
want to be nice to you."
Tears were in her eyes, her lips were trembling. Pathetically she
asked:
"Then why do you insult me? Why do you wish to degrade me?"
"Degrade you?" he echoed, as if surprised. "Why--you're my wife--"
"Does that make the degradation any the less?" she demanded. "When I
married you did I become your property? Do you own me? Have I
surrendered all rights in myself? When you placed a wedding ring on my
finger did it mean that I forfeited my free will? If so--then marriage
is horrible."
He shrugged his shoulders. Carelessly he said:
"The law says that a husband--"
"The law! The law!" she echoed disdainfully. "Always remember
this--the minute a husband even mentions his legal rights it shows
that he has lost his moral rights and the moral rights are the ones
that count." Changing her tone to one of pleading, she went on: "Let
me go, dear! Please let me go!"
He smiled significantly at her.
"You just be a nice, good little wife, and in the morning you can go
down to Tiffany's and buy anything you like, anything--"
"Ha! ha!" she cried desperately, hopelessly, "no wonder you talk of
buying me! If I did that where would I be any better than a woman of
the streets?"
Without stopping to hear his answer she turned quickly and again made
an effort to reach her room.
"Good night!" she cried.
But once more he intercepted her.
"You're not going to leave me," he said warningly.
"I am, I tell you! I am!" she cried defiantly.
"Oh, no, you're not," he said determinedly, and approaching as if
about to lay hands on her.
"Don't touch me!" she cried, recoiling as he advanced.
"At least not till you have given me a kiss--just one. Then you can
go."
"You promise that?"
"Yes."
"Just one?"
"Just one," he said.
Thinking to get rid of him the sooner, she put up her face and kissed
him on the cheek.
"Not that kind," he protested, "a real one."
She shook her head. Wearily she said:
"I can't! I can't!"
"All right then!" he exclaimed with a laugh.
Without further argument he seized hold of her and drew her close to
him in spite of her struggles to free herself.
"Let me go! Let me go, I say! Let me go!" she screamed.
He paid no heed to her cries, but drawing her closer until her face
touched his, he stooped suddenly and kissed her full on the mouth.
Then he released her.
"Oh, my God!" she cried.
Directly she felt herself free, she rushed to her room. He tried to
stop her, but this time she was too quick. She reached the room before
him and bolted the door in his face. Balked of his prey, he stood for
a moment looking at the closed door in sullen silence. Then, as if
seized by a sudden uncontrollable frenzy, he seized the poker in the
fireplace and rushing to the door, smashed in the panel. Putting his
arm through the jagged rent, he coolly withdrew the bolt and entered.