"Well?" he demanded--"got anything to say to that?"
"You don't think ... nobody would dare...."
"What's the reason I don't think? Why wouldn't anybody dare? I presume
you expect the world--this good, kind, charitable world we live in--to
believe 'appearances are against you'!"
Affronted, she held her answer, seeing her husband as with eyes from
which scales had newly dropped, as a man she barely knew, whose fleshy
husk alone was familiar in her sight, but whose spirit was altogether
strange: a man self-reliant and resolute, skeptical, cold and hard of
temper, estranged and unforgiving; witness the contemptuous incredulity
that animated his regard.
Smouldering indignation blazed, she threw back her head with eyes as
cold as his, a mouth as hard.
"You are insolent," she pronounced slowly. "If you think--if you dare
think what you hint--what is it to you whether I go or stay?"
"You forget you neglected to get rid of a husband before taking on with
this busy lover ... who got precisely what was coming to him, if you
want the truth for once!"
"Do I hear you setting yourself up to judge him, Bel?"
"Do you know anybody better qualified?"
"By what right----"
"The husband's right! Do you think I want every paper in the country
linking your name--my wife's--with Lynn Summerlad's as his latest
mistress, the woman who made his deserted wife so jealous she tried to
murder him?"
Lucinda let her wrap fall. "If my relationship to Lynn is what you
imply--then my place is here with him."
"Please yourself. But remember, the papers are going to make big capital
out of this scandal in the movie colony. They've been itching for it for
years, licking their chops with impatience, knowing it was bound to
break some day.... Good God! what's got into you, Linda? How long do you
imagine it'll be, after this affair gets into print, before the
reporters will ferret out the fact that 'Linda Lee' is Mrs. Bellamy
Druce? Do you want to go into a witness-box and testify against that
demented creature when she's tried for murder? Do you want everybody who
knows you--all your friends back home--to think what everybody in his
sane mind has every right to think?"
"What you think...."
"What the devil do you care what _I_ think? But if it comes to that,
tell me this: If you aren't what people are going to say you are, what
are you doing here, alone with Summerlad, in his own home, at night?"
"The Lontaines were coming to dinner, but----"
"'But'!" Bel snorted. "Oh, all right! I'll be a high-minded ass, if
that'll satisfy you; I'll give you the benefit of the doubt, if that'll
induce you to clear out of this before it's too late. But don't forget
I'm the only one who will. His wife wouldn't--didn't. Neither will
another living soul who knows you were here when this thing happened.
Your only salvation now is to get back to the hotel and lie low; if you
hear any rumours, be as much surprised as anybody; if you're asked any
questions, know absolutely nothing. If you'll do that, and leave the
rest to me, perhaps I can save you."
"You are too kind----"
"I'm not. Don't fool yourself. I'm thinking of nobody but Bellamy Druce.
All I'm after is to save my name from being linked up with this rotten
business. Think of yourself, as I'm thinking of myself, then. Think
whether it's going to be worth the name you'll get, to have the
satisfaction of this heroic gesture, this theatrical effect of sticking
bravely by the side of your actor lover--so nobly wounded!--this man
whose promiscuous amours have made his name a by-word even here, even in
Hollywood!... But for the love of God, think quickly!"
He ceased upon a note of impatient admonishment, then, when Lucinda
remained silent, changed his tone.
"I treated you badly enough, God knows! but you paid me out properly,
you can afford to be magnanimous now. I've done nothing to deserve your
active ill-will since you left me. And it isn't as if you could do
Summerlad any good by staying. His fate's all up to the surgeons. And
you can trust me to see that everything possible is done for him. I'll
keep you posted, I'll come to the hotel tonight and tell you what the
surgeon says."
He bent with painful effort and lifted her wrap. She took it without a
word, swung it round her shoulders, turned and left the room.
Bellamy followed as far as the front door. His car was waiting on the
drive, its motor running. The chauffeur, already instructed, held the
tonneau door for Lucinda, closed it smartly, smartly climbed into place
at the wheel. She looked back as they drew away. Bellamy stood en
silhouette against the light, nursing his bandaged arm. A turn in the
drive blocked out that picture, the car wheeled sharply into the public
street, gathered speed. And Lucinda crouched down in her corner,
chilled to her marrow by realization of the loneliness of her lot, from
whom Life had stripped away even the forlorn company of her last, most
dear illusion....