THE BITTERNESS OF JEALOUSY
James, the footman, entered the library before Malcolm Melvin had
completed the first sentence of the reading of Patricia's
stipulations, and deferentially addressed himself to Roderick Duncan:
"Pardon me, sir," he said, "but there is an urgent demand for you at
the telephone--so urgent that I thought it necessary to interrupt
you."
"For me? Are you sure?" asked Duncan, in surprise. For, at the moment,
he could not imagine who sought him at such an hour, or how his
presence at Langdon's house, was known.
"Yes, sir. Mr. Gardner is on the wire."
Duncan started to his feet, and hurried from the room, while Patricia,
after a moment's hesitation, arose and followed him, glancing toward
the big clock in one corner of the library as she passed it, and
observing that it was already Sunday morning.
She waited in the hallway, outside the library door, until Duncan
reappeared, after his talk with Jack Gardner over the telephone, and
she stopped him, by a gesture.
"What is it, Roderick?" she asked. "I think I know what it must be. If
it is anything that concerns me, I should like to know about it at
once. It is something about the--the rumor of your marriage to
Beatrice?"
"It concerns you only indirectly, Patricia," he replied. "I am afraid
that I must defer the reading of those stipulations until another
time. Gardner is very anxious for me to go to him at once."
"Why?" It was a simple, but a very direct question, which there was no
possibility of avoiding.
"Gardner has kidnapped Radnor, and has him now at his own house.
Radnor is the newspaper man whom I--who sought to interview me.
Beatrice is there, with Sally. You know, they left Delmonico's
together. My presence is insisted upon in order properly to clear up
this unfortunate business. I really must go, you see. It is necessary
for all concerned that this matter go no farther."
He would have said more, but she turned calmly away from him, and
spoke to the footman.
"James," she said, "have Philip at the front door with the Packard, as
quickly as possible." Then, to Duncan, she added: "I'll go with you;
I shall be ready in a moment. You must wait for me, Roderick."
"But, Patricia," exclaimed Duncan, startled and greatly dismayed by
her decision, reached so suddenly, "have you thought what time it is?"
"Yes," she responded, moving toward the stairway. "I have just looked
at the clock. It is two o'clock, Sunday morning. I understand, also,
that the conventions would be shocked, if the conventions understood
the situation; but, fortunately, the conventions do not. You and I
will drive to Sally Gardner's home together. I shall bring Beatrice
back with me when we return. Please, make our apologies to my father
and Mr. Melvin. I shall rejoin you in a moment."
There was no help for it, and Duncan waited, for he knew that, even if
he should hasten on alone, Patricia would follow in the automobile, as
soon as Philip brought it to the door. He sent James into the library
with the announcement, and a moment later assisted Patricia into the
hastily summoned car. The drive to the home of Jack Gardner was a
short one, and was made in utter silence between the two young persons
so deeply interested in each other, yet so widely separated by the
occurrences of that fateful Saturday afternoon. Duncan knew that it
was useless to expostulate with Patricia; and she, following her
adopted course of outward indifference to everything save her personal
interests, preferred to say nothing at all.
When the automobile came to a stop before Gardner's door, Jack himself
rushed down the steps; but he paused midway between the bottom one and
the curb, when he discovered that Duncan was not alone in the car, and
he uttered a low whistle of consternation. He said something under his
breath, too, but neither of the occupants of the automobile could hear
it; and then, as he stepped forward to assist Patricia to alight, she
said to him, in her usual quiet manner:
"Inasmuch as I am an interested party in this affair, Jack, I thought
it important that I should accompany Mr. Duncan. I hope you do not
regret that I have done so."
"Why--er--certainly not; not at all, Patricia. I don't know but that
it is better--your having done so. You see--er--things have somehow
got into a most damna--terrific tangle, you know, and I suppose I am
partly responsible for it; if not wholly so. I--"
"You need not explain; believe me, Jack," she interrupted him, and
passed on toward the steps, ascending them alone in advance of the
two men who had paused for a moment beside the automobile, facing each
other. Then, things happened, and they followed one another so swiftly
that it is almost impossible to give a comprehensive description of
them.
Philip, the chauffeur, sprang out from under the steering-wheel and
for some reason unknown to anyone but himself, passed around to the
rear of the car. He had permitted the engine to run on, merely
throwing out the clutch when he came to a stop. The noise of the
machinery interfered with the low-toned conversation that Duncan
wished to have with Jack Gardner, and so the two stepped aside, moving
a few paces away from the car, and also beyond the steps leading to
the entrance of Gardner's home. Patricia passed through the open door,
unannounced, for the owner of the house had left it ajar when he ran
down the steps to greet Duncan. Miss Langdon had barely disappeared
inside the doorway, when the hatless figure of a man sprang through
it. He ran down the steps, and jumped into the driver's seat of the
Packard car before either Duncan, or Gardner, whose backs were
half-turned in that direction, realized what was taking place.
The man was Radnor, of course. He had found an opportunity to escape
from his difficulties, and had taken advantage of it, without a
moment's hesitation. He had argued that there would still be time,
before the last edition of the newspapers should go to press, if he
could only get to a telephone and succeed in convincing the night
editor of the wisdom of holding the forms for this great story. Any
newspaper would answer his purpose, for he believed that he could hold
back any one of them a few moments, if only he could get to a
telephone.
Radnor had not reckoned on the automobile, but he knew how to operate
a Packard car as well as did the chauffeur himself, and he had barely
reached the seat under the wheel when the big machine shot forward
with rapidly increasing speed. He left the chauffeur, and the two
young millionaires gaping after it with unmitigated astonishment and
chagrin. Duncan and Gardner, both, realized that the newspaper man had
escaped them, and each of them understood only too well that at least
one of the city newspapers was now likely to print the hateful story
of the supposed marriage, beneath glaring and astonishing headlines,
the following morning.
Duncan swore, softly and rapidly, but with emphasis; Jack Gardner,
broke into uproarous laughter, which he could not possibly repress or
control; the chauffeur started up the avenue on a run, in a fruitless
chase after the on-rushing car, which even at that moment whirled
around the corner toward Madison avenue, and disappeared. Gardner
continued to laugh on, until Duncan seized him by the shoulder, and
shook him with some violence.
"Shut up your infernal clatter, Jack!" he exclaimed, momentarily
forgetful of his anger at his friend. "Help me to think what can be
done to head off that crazy fool, will you? It isn't half-past two
o'clock, yet, and he will succeed in catching at least one of the
newspapers, before it goes to press; God only knows how many others he
will connect with, by telephone. What shall we do?"
"I can get out one of my own cars in ten minutes," began Gardner. But
his friend interrupted him:
"Come with me," Duncan exclaimed; and, being almost as familiar with
the interior of the house as its owner was, he dashed up the steps
through the still open doorway, and ran onward up the stairs toward
the smoking-room on the second floor, closely followed by Gardner.
There he seized upon the telephone, and asked for the _New York
Herald_, fortunately knowing the number. While he awaited a response
to his call he put one hand over the transmitter, and said, rapidly,
to his companion:
"Jack, I have just called up the night city editor of the _Herald_.
While I am talking with him, I wish you would make use of the
telephone-directory, and write down the numbers of the calls for the
other leading newspapers in town. This is the only way possible by
which we may succeed in getting ahead of Radnor."
Any person who has ever had to do with newspaper life will understand
how futile such an attempt as this one would be to interfere with
interesting news, during the last moments before going to press. City
editors, and especially night city editors, have no time to devote to
complaints, unless those complaints possess news-value. Nothing short
of dynamite, can "kill" a "good story," once it has gone to the
composing-room. Whatever it was that Duncan said to the gentleman in
charge of the desk at the _Herald_ office, and to the gentlemen in
charge of other desks, at other newspaper offices, need not be
recorded here. Each of the persons, so addressed, probably listened,
with apparent interest, to a small part of his statement, and as
inevitably interrupted him by inquiring if it were Mr. Duncan in
person who was talking; and, when an affirmative answer was given to
this inquiry, Roderick was not long in discovering that he had
succeeded only in supplying an additional value to the story, and in
giving a personal interview over a telephone-wire. He realized, too
late, that instead of interfering with whatever intention Burke Radnor
might have had in making the escape, he had materially aided this
ubiquitous person in his plans. The mere mention by him to each of the
city editors that Radnor was the man of whom he was complaining, gave
assurance to those gentlemen that some sort of important news was on
the way to them, and therefore Duncan succeeded only in accomplishing
what Radnor most desired--that is, in holding back the closing of the
forms, as long as possible, for Radnor's story, whatever it might
prove to be.
Meanwhile, directly beneath the room where Duncan was so frantically
telephoning, a scene of quite a different character was taking place.
When Patricia entered the house, she passed rapidly forward to the
spacious library, encountering no one. Entering it, she found Sally
Gardner seated upon one of the chairs, convulsed with laughter, while
directly before her stood Beatrice, her eyes flashing contemptuous
anger, and scorn upon the fun-loving and now half-hysterical young
matron, who seemed to be unduly amused. Neither of them was at the
moment, conscious of Patricia's presence. She had approached so
quietly and swiftly that her footsteps along the hallway had made no
sound.
"You helped Burke Radnor to escape from us, Sally!" Beatrice was
exclaiming, angrily. "I haven't a doubt that you put him up to it. I
believe you would be delighted to see that hateful story in the
newspapers. It was a despicable thing for you to do."
"Oh, Beatrice!" Sally exclaimed, when she could find breath to do so.
"It is all so very funny--"
She discovered Patricia's presence, and stopped abruptly; then, she
started to her feet, and, passing around the table quickly, greeted
Miss Langdon with effusion.
"Why, Patricia!" she exclaimed. "I had no idea that you were here."
Beatrice turned quickly at the mention of Patricia's name, and her
anger at Sally Gardner was suddenly turned against Patricia Langdon,
with tenfold force and vehemence. It is an axiom that blue-eyed women
have more violent tempers than black-eyed ones, once they are
thoroughly aroused. Your brunette will flash and sputter, and say
hasty things impulsively, or emotionally, but her anger is likely to
pass as quickly as it arises, and it is almost sure to leave no
lasting sting, behind it. Your fair-haired, fair-skinned, man or
woman, when thoroughly aroused, is inclined to be implacable,
unrelenting, even cruel.
Beatrice Brunswick's eyes were flashing with passionate fury, and,
although she did not realize it, the greater part of her display of
temper, was really directed against herself, because deep down in her
sub-consciousness she knew that she alone was responsible for the
present predicament. But anger is unreasoning, and, when one is angry
at oneself, one is only too apt to seek for another person upon whom
to visit the consequences. Patricia made her appearance just in time
to offer herself as a target for Miss Brunswick's wrath; and Beatrice,
totally unmindful of Sally's presence, loosed her tongue, and
permitted words to flow, which, had she stopped to think, she never
would have uttered.
"It is you! you! Patricia Langdon, who are responsible for this
dreadful state of affairs," she cried out, starting forward, and, with
one hand resting upon the corner of the library table, bending a
little toward the haughty, Junoesque young woman she was addressing.
"It is you, who dare to play with a man's love as a child would play
with a doll, and who think it can be made to conform to the spirit of
your unholy pride as readily. It is your fault that I am placed in
this dreadful position, so that now, with Sally's connivance, this
dreadful tale is likely to appear in every one of the morning papers.
You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Pat Langdon, for doing what you
have done! You ought to get down on your knees to Roderick Duncan, and
beg his eternal pardon for the agony you have caused him, since noon
of yesterday. I know it all--I know the whole story, from beginning to
end! I know what your unreasoning pride and your haughty willfulness,
have accomplished: they have driven almost to desperation the man who
loves you better than he loves anything else in the world! But you
have no heart. The place inside you where it should exist is an empty
void. If it were not, you would realize to what dreadful straits you
have brought us all, and to what degree of desperation you have driven
me, who sought to help you. I tell you, now, to your face, that
Roderick Duncan is one man in ten thousand; and that he has loved you
for years, as a woman is rarely loved. But you cast his love aside as
if it were of no value--as if it were a little thing, to be picked up
anywhere, and to be played with, as a child plays with a toy.
Possibly it may please you now to hear one thing more; but, whether it
does or not, you shall hear it. Roderick was in a desperate mood,
to-night, because of your treatment of him, and he did ask me to marry
him. So there! He did ask me! And I--I was a fool not to take him at
his word. But he doesn't--he didn't--he--" She ceased as abruptly as
she had begun the tirade.
Patricia had started backward a little before Beatrice's vehemence,
and her eyes had gradually widened and darkened, while she sought and
obtained her accustomed control over her own emotions. Now, with a
slight shrug of her shoulders and a smile that was maddening to the
young woman who faced her, she interrupted:
"You should have accepted Mr. Duncan's proposal," she said, icily,
"for, if I read you correctly now, the fulfillment of it would have
been most agreeable to you. One might quite readily assume from your
conduct and the words you use that you love Roderick Duncan almost as
madly as you say he loves me."
"Well?" Beatrice raised her chin, and stood erect and defiant before
her former friend. "Well?" she repeated. "And what if I do?"
Patricia shrugged her shoulders again, and turned slowly away, but as
she did so, said slowly and distinctly:
"Possibly, I am mistaken, after all. I had forgotten the attractive
qualities of Mr. Duncan's millions." Beatrice gasped; but Patricia
added, without perceptible pause: "I should warn you, however, that
Mr. Duncan is under a verbal agreement with me! We are to meet and
sign a contract, Monday morning. It seems to be my duty to remind you
of that much, Miss Brunswick."
Patricia did not wait to see the effect of her words. Outwardly calm,
she was a seething furnace of wrath within. She turned away abruptly,
and passed through the open doorway into the hall. There, she stopped.
She had nearly collided with Duncan and Jack Gardner, who were both
standing where they must have heard all that had passed inside the
library. Both were plainly confused, for neither had meant to hear,
but there had been no way to escape. Patricia understood the situation
perfectly, and she kept her self possession, if they did not. For just
one instant, so short as to be almost imperceptible, she hesitated,
then, addressing Gardner, she said in her most conventional tones:
"Jack, will you take me to my car, please?"
"It's gone, Patricia," he replied, relieved by the calmness of her
manner. "Radnor took it, you know, when he made his escape. I suppose
it is standing in front of some newspaper office, at the present
moment, but God only knows which one it is. I'll tell you what I'll
do, though: I'll order one of my own cars around. It won't take five
minutes, even at this ungodly hour. I always keep one on tap, for
emergencies."
"I prefer not to wait," she replied. "It is only a short distance. I
shall ask you to walk home with me, if you will."
"Sure!" exclaimed Gardner, glad of any method by which the present
predicament might be escaped; and he called aloud to one of the
servants to bring him his hat and coat.
Duncan had moved forward quickly, toward Patricia, to offer his
services, but had paused with the words he would have said unuttered.
He understood that the trying scene through which Patricia had just
passed, had embittered her anew against him; and so he stood aside
while she went with Gardner from the house to the street. His impulse
was to follow, for he, also, wished to escape. Then, he was aware that
he still wore his hat. During the excitement, he had not removed it,
since entering the house. He started for the door, but was arrested
before he had taken two steps, by Sally Gardner's voice calling to him
frantically from the library.
He turned and sprang into the room, to find that Beatrice was lying at
full length on the floor, with Sally sobbing and stroking her hands,
and calling upon her, in frightened tones, to speak. But Beatrice had
only fainted, and, when Duncan knelt down beside her, she opened her
blue eyes and looked up at him, trying to smile.
In that instant of pity and remorse, he forgot all else save the
stricken Beatrice, and what, in her anger, she had confessed to
Patricia. The rapidly succeeding incidents of that day and night had
unnerved him, also. He was suddenly convinced of the futility of
winning the love and confidence of Patricia, and, with an impulse
born, he could not have told when, or how, or why, he bent forward
quickly and touched his lips to Beatrice's forehead.
"Is it true, Beatrice? Is it true?" he asked her, in a low tone; and,
totally misunderstanding his question, entirely misconstruing it's
meaning, she replied:
"God help me, yes. God help us all."
Then, she lapsed again into unconsciousness.