Without energy, without bodily or mental vigor, Maisie had the
immeasurable strength of fortitude. She could live one day at a time,
endure each misery as it came; and in her baby she found a sublime
compensation for every sorrow. Her money was exhausted when she left the
hospital, but she was accustomed to the idea of a lifetime of work; and
now that she had something to work for, a new ambition had awakened in
her.
Her brother had taught her to dance. Indeed, they had once laboriously
rehearsed a “turn” of his invention which was to thrill the music halls.
She knew all the hackneyed steps, the conventional gestures, and
performed them with a conscientious and touching grace.
The stage was out of the question--she knew that. She had no stage
presence, no commercial value; but she could teach. Her naïve confidence
in her ability to do so convinced the manager of the Palace Dancing
Academy, and he engaged her as a “lady instructor.” The hours were
irregular. She had to be on call from ten in the morning till ten at
night, and was paid by the lesson.
She bought an evening dress from a secondhand dealer, an amazing affair
of tarnished spangles and frowzy net, in which she looked incredibly
dowdy. She could never learn to dress her hair. There were always silky
threads waving as she moved, and one dark lock that insisted on falling
across her forehead. One of her pupils said privately that dancing with
her was like dancing with a rag doll. She seemed boneless and
unsubstantial.
On the whole, however, she was well liked, for she took the greatest
pains, was never impatient, never discouraged. Neither did she resent
anything whatever. Some of her clients went far in their compliments,
but her pale cheeks never flushed. She simply didn’t care. She had done
with men, and all her steadfast and gentle heart was given to her baby.
The Maisie who went dancing about in the Palace Academy was an
automaton, whose soul was locked up at home.
She knew nothing at all about babies. She didn’t even know that there
was anything to know. She read the label on a package of infant food,
and followed the directions given. For the rest, she had vague ideas
about keeping it swathed in flannel, giving it a daily bath, and taking
it out in the fresh air whenever she could. She knew nothing of infant
hygiene, and had never been told that the child should be let alone in
order to develop naturally and healthily. She never let it alone, if she
could avoid doing so; and still it developed mightily.
When she went out to give her lessons, she simply locked the room and
left the baby in the crib. Sometimes she worried about fire, but she had
no idea that what she did was wicked and shocking. On the contrary, she
thought it inevitable.
She hadn’t told any one that there was a baby, but Mrs. Tracy found it
out, and was very much agitated. Her grandchild! Try as she would to let
well enough alone, the idea tormented her. It was an intolerable shame
that her grandchild should be brought up in squalor and degradation by
this girl!
She went again to her lawyer, and he gave her sage advice.
“I’ve no doubt she’d be willing to give up the child for a suitable
consideration,” said he. “She seems to be a matter-of-fact young
person.”
So he went with Mrs. Tracy to offer the suitable consideration. They
found the miserable furnished room and knocked at the door. It was
locked, but the baby inside began to cry.
“I guess Mrs. Tracy’s out,” said the landlady, who was interested in
these imposing visitors.
“Does she leave the child locked in the room alone?” demanded the
outraged grandmother.
“Well, what else can she do?” replied the landlady. “But she’s always
home by quarter past ten.”
So they came again at that time. Maisie had brought in a sandwich and a
piece of cake for her supper, and had spread them out on the table. The
baby’s food was simmering over the gas jet, and the baby itself was
propped up with pillows on the bed, jolly as a sandboy. Maisie had taken
off her evening frock and put on a short, old-womanish sort of flannel
dressing sack. Her short dark hair hung loose about her neck. She looked
startled when she opened the door.
The senior Mrs. Tracy was an impressive woman, tall, slender, straight,
with a high-bridged nose and pale, restless eyes. She had an arrogant
spirit, but she came prepared to hold it in subjection, and to cajole,
if necessary. She must and would have her grandchild.
Moreover, she fell in love with the baby at once. It was a vigorous,
wild little thing, with rough dark hair and a glance farouche and
bright. It was rather undersized, but perfectly formed and healthy.
“And she’s dressed it like a monkey!” she thought angrily. “The child is
certainly ten months old, and still in those ridiculous long clothes,
and that absurd jacket! And _why_ a bonnet in the house?”
Mrs. Tracy considered all this as evidence of Maisie’s lack of maternal
feeling, and she was astounded when the girl refused to sell her baby.
“Oh, no, thank you!” she persisted. “Oh, thank you very much, but I’d
rather not. Thanks, but really I can’t!”
The lawyer and Mrs. Tracy pointed out to her how grossly selfish she
was, and told her that she thought only of her own pleasure, and not of
the child’s advantage. Maisie kept to herself certain ideas she had
about these advantages. She was terrified, but resolute. She would not
give up the baby.