The lawyer read the document aloud to her, but she did not understand.
“What was that?” she asked timidly. “Free--”
“‘Free access to the aforementioned infant,’” he repeated. “That means
that you may see your child at any time--any reasonable time, of
course,” he hastened to add.
It did not take Maisie long to discover that there was no reasonable
time. No matter at what hour she came to the house, she had to wait in
the hall, sitting in a high-backed chair against the wall, humble,
patient, like a child herself. The servants passed and repassed as often
as they could find pretexts, for the sake of staring at this creature
who had trapped young Mr. Lester into a scandalous marriage. The fact
that she had not been notably successful as an adventuress stirred no
one to pity. They had married, and it must have been due to Heaven knows
what beguilement on her part.
Maisie had little charm for the casual observer. She was small, fragile,
with untidy black hair and gray eyes immense and sorrowful. She dressed
like a schoolgirl in a blue sailor blouse and a short dark skirt. Her
pale face had the rounded contour of extreme youth. If the reckless Mr.
Lester had betrayed her, one might have felt compassion for her as a
forlorn and lovely child; but the fact that he had married her proved
her to be basely calculating.
After a long time she would be taken up to the nursery. If the baby was
asleep, she would stand beside the crib, her hands clasped, tears
raining down her face. She would wait patiently until it awoke. Then she
would lift the sturdy little thing, strain it to her childish breast,
kiss its faint, silky hair, and press her own cheek against its plump
one. She scarcely dared to whisper her passionate endearments, for the
trained nurse was always there, looking at her critically.
“I don’t like to see her pick up the baby,” the nurse said to Mrs.
Tracy. “She doesn’t look healthy.”
“I dare say she’s not,” replied Mrs. Tracy, with a sigh; “and who knows
what she’s been doing, or where she comes from? But I suppose it can’t
be helped. She had a legal right to see the child, of course. My son is
very strict about her rights, and so on--very generous.”
Her son himself was not always so sure of his generosity. He had moments
when he thought himself little short of contemptible. Only moments,
though; he was no rebel, and if his world was inclined to condone his
offenses, or even to deny them, who was he to contradict it?
He was young himself--only twenty-two; a good-looking, silly,
sweet-tempered boy. His life was one folly after another, always
repaired by some one else. He did not imagine that he could do no wrong,
but he felt pretty sure that any wrong that he might do could easily be
undone by some one else.
He had found Maisie behind the counter of a candy shop, where he went to
buy lavish presents for other girls. Her luminous and innocent eyes, her
soft little English voice, had taken his fancy. She was quite alone in
the world. She had come to America with her brother, a third-rate actor,
a hard-working, ambitious fellow, for whom she was to keep house.
“But he died,” she said simply. “So I’m working here.”
She had been pitifully ready to love. She had taken all Lester Tracy’s
extravagant speeches in perfect seriousness. She didn’t know how to
conceal her sweet delight; and he had been very much touched by her
artless affection. There was no one like little Maisie.
He often took her out to dinner, and to save his life he could see
nothing in her to find fault with. She was always gentle, quiet,
appealing. What if she was a shop girl? He knew plenty of girls of his
own sort who might have learned much from Maisie. She was no gold
digger, for she demanded nothing, expected nothing. She was happy if he
took her out, but she was quite as happy if he stood in the vestibule of
the wretched apartment house where she lived, and talked to her and
kissed her.
She cared nothing at all for his money. He had tried to explain that,
but no one would believe it.
He couldn’t explain his marriage very well. He had come into the candy
shop, one day, on his way home from a wedding breakfast, where he had
had a good deal too much to drink. He had leaned across the counter and
said to Maisie:
“Come on, Maisie, darling! Let’s go and get married!”
She had got her shabby little hat and walked out of the shop with him,
and they had gone down to the City Hall. He had been well aware of his
condition, and a little afraid that he wouldn’t be granted a license;
but he had made a great effort, and had carried it off splendidly.
He had been very happy with Maisie. He had run away. For a time no one
knew where he was or what he had done, and they had lived in a big
seaside hotel, undisturbed by any thought of the consequences of the
thing. He did not like to remember how sweet Maisie had been. He tried
to forget the innocent gayety of that fortnight.
Of course he had been discovered, and the monstrousness of the escapade
had been shown to him. He had been hectored and wept over and bribed,
and he had given in, as he always did.
Maisie was no less docile. She had been told that she must give him up,
and she did as she was told.
Her docility was a sore temptation to the Tracys’ lawyer, who saw no
reason why they should throw money away on a girl who didn’t want it. He
advised them to waive the question of a divorce for the present, but to
ask her to sign an informal--and infamous--separation agreement, to
accept a very small cash settlement, and to vanish. She saw clearly that
no one on earth--alas, not even Lester--cared where she went, or what
happened to her.
To the lawyer she seemed to be a singularly insensitive creature. Even
Lester was surprised that she gave him up so readily, without even a
word of farewell. She would have got more sympathy--and more money--if
she had made a scene; but that never occurred to her. She accepted
whatever life offered with the blind resignation of a child. She felt
herself entirely helpless and ineffectual, and took refuge in a strange
inner life of her own, in the most piteous dreams and fancies.