Had Helen been alone, I would have dropped Jim and gone on, knowing
that what they had to say to each other was not for outside ears, but
when I saw Frank Woods' car there, I felt that a cool head might be
needed. There was an ominous set to Jim's shoulders as he walked
toward the steps, a sort of drawing in of the head, as though all the
muscles in his big frame were tensed. He hesitated a fraction of a
second at the door, either to let me catch up with him or because of
distaste for the prospective meeting, and we entered the cool dark hall
together.
Helen was standing at the entrance to the big living-room, her tall
figure erect, her head proudly poised, one graceful arm upraised, with
the hand buried in the velvet hangings. She had on a gray
traveling-suit, the coat of which lay tossed over the back of a near-by
chair. A large patent-leather traveling-case lay beside it. I had
expected, from the urgency of the message and the sound of her voice
over the telephone, to find Helen agitated, but, except for slight
traces of recent tears and a high color, she looked as cool and
collected as though she had invited us to tea. Jim, on the other hand,
was trembling, his face a pasty white, with great beads of perspiration
standing on his forehead.
She motioned us to enter, and I led the way, gripping Jim's hand in
passing. Woods was standing by the window, his back to us, and his
whole pose so artificial, so expressive of disdain, that I felt the
short hair rising along the back of my neck in antagonism. When he
heard us, Woods turned with contemptuous deliberation, but when he
caught sight of the dumb misery on Jim's face, his own turned a dull
crimson. Helen crossed the room and seated herself on the divan, back
of which Woods was standing. The whole performance--the place she
chose near him, the look she flashed at him as she sat down, showed so
completely which of the men she loved, that my heart sank and I lost
hope of ever bringing her back to Jim. It was Helen who first spoke.
"You received the note I left this morning?"
Jim moistened his lips once and said, "Yes." The word was barely
audible.
"Then there is no need to tell you I have made up my mind to go with
Frank."
Her tone was coldly final. Woods had turned and was again gazing out
of the window. Jim looked at Helen with the eyes of a hound-dog. My
heart ached for him, but there was nothing I could do.
"Why did you come back?" Jim almost whispered, keeping his eyes
directly on her face.
"Because I didn't want a scandal." She glanced down at her lap where
she was opening and closing a beaded vanity bag. Evidently she was
finding the interview harder than she had expected.
"I felt--I hoped that if I could show you definitely and finally that I
don't love you, that I am devoted to Frank, your pride, if nothing
else, would induce you to give me the divorce for which I asked. That
is the reason we decided to come back--so you might make it possible
for us to marry without a scandal."
The gross selfishness of the woman--I could hardly think of her as my
sister--her cold cruelty, yes, even her damnable beauty, seemed to go
to my head and something snapped inside. I couldn't bear the sight of
Jim standing there helpless, while these two turned the knife.
"That was very considerate of you," I sneered.
"You keep out of this, Warren!"
"I'm damned if I do," I retorted. "I at least have a brother's right
to tell you that a man who will sneak into another's home to make love
to his wife, behind his back, and then----"