Charles-Norton's letter came to Dolly in the evening, after a day full
of worry. It read:
"DEAR DOLLY:--Enclosed is $480. It's for you. I'm going
away. I simply can't stand it, that's all. I think I
still love you, Dolly, but I can't stand the life. I
can't, that's all. I must have, I must have--well, I
can't stand that clipping business any longer.
"Please don't grieve. Some day you'll meet a man who is
real fond of you and who will make you happy--one that
hasn't any wings. There are lots of them.
"Yours always (in thought),
"CHARLES-NORTON."
"P.S.--Please don't feel too bad about this.
"C.N."
At the reading of this tactful epistle, Dolly, of course, immediately
burst out into hysterics. These shall remain undescribed here. There is
something mysterious about hysteria which paralyzes the pen. Not the
least mysterious thing about it is the fact that the word, pronounced in
an assembly of men and women, will simultaneously call up haggard lines
on the faces of the men and cooing sniggles in the throats of the ladies.
Anyway, poor little Dolly had it bad all that night, and all the next
day, and all the next night. By the morning of the second day, it had
passed to a lamentable wandering to and fro within the cage-like
apartment, with disordered garments and unkempt hair, through which eyes
shone with a glint of madness. By the afternoon of the same day, it was
taking some interest in its reflection as it passed the several mirrors
in its ceaseless pacing. The reflection reminded of Ophelia. Finally,
when in the evening it caught itself nibbling cracker and cheese in the
upset kitchen, it realized that it needed new stimulus. It telegraphed
for Dolly's Boston aunt.
The calculation proved correct. When, twelve hours later, the Boston
aunt pressed the button at the landing, she found herself almost
immediately tackled around the neck, while a shriek pierced her right
ear. This was followed by a palpitant hugging, from the folds of which
emerged vague, bubbling sounds. The aunt bore the demonstration with
stoicism and with a certain reservation of self. She was very much unlike
Dolly--tall and spare, with bushy brows, beneath the deep arcade of which
glowed two limpid gray eyes. These eyes, during Dolly's little
performance, remained somehow outside of the enveloping flutter. They
peered over Dolly's shoulder in an alert examination of the disorder
evident within the flat, and in their serene depths a slight
will-o'-the-wisp seemed discreetly dancing. When finally Dolly's outburst
had moderated, the old lady spoke. "Where is the bath-room?" she said.
Dolly dropped her convulsive hold and drew back a step. "The bath-room!"
she exclaimed, her eyes very big; "you want to know where the bath-room
is!"
"Yes, the bath," repeated Auntie, as though astonished at the
astonishment.
Dolly showed it to her. A calmness had come over her, a calmness of
indignation. Auntie gave the bottom of the tub a hurried cleaning,
adjusted the faucet to a tepid flow, dropped in the stopper, and sat down
on the edge of the porcelain as the water rose within. "I'm going to give
you a bath," she announced to Dolly, who stood there petrified with hurt
amazement.
And when the tub was full, she rose lightly to her feet and began to take
off Dolly's soiled kimono. Dolly, in a daze, felt the garment slip from
her, and then slid into the warm, green pool, which closed softly about
her neck. "You lie there a while," said Auntie; "I'll come back and give
you a shampoo."
And Dolly remained alone in the steaming room. Little by little, to the
persistent caress of the warm water, she felt her body relax; she shut
her eyes; from beneath the closed lids tears exuded softly; they came
freely, without a pang. After a while, even these ceased. From the
bedroom came the sound of a bed being rolled, a flapping of sheets, a
whirring of blinds. Auntie returned. "Now," she said alacriously.
Dolly's head was being rubbed; a snow-white bubbly mountain was rising
upon it, a mountain like an island--that is to say, like that confection
known as a floating island; she could feel on her scalp the wise,
soothing fingers of her aunt breaking down the resistance of her nerves;
her eyes, shut at first merely to keep out the soap, remained closed in
semi-ecstasy.
"Now, out you go!" suddenly boomed a voice, as a patter of water
descended upon her head; and Dolly stepped out into the vigorous embrace
of a turkish towel. It was passing over her body with a firm, rotary
motion as of machinery; she swayed within it like a palm in a tempest. It
slid up into her hair and finally twisted itself about it in a turban. A
fresh night-dress descended about her; "to bed, now," said the voice.
The room was gray and cool within the lowered blinds; passively, Dolly
slipped in between the fresh white sheets; her head sank into the
crackling pillow. A little sob rose in her throat. "O, Auntie," she said,
"O-o-o."
"Not a word now!" the capable lady immediately broke in. "I know all
about it. You can tell it to me when you wake up. Go to sleep now."
It was a pleasant sort of violence; as a harness of flowers the obedience
of Dolly's childhood slipped again about her. She shut her eyes, then
like a puppy-dog snuggling to its mother, turned and dug her round little
nose into the pillow. A snifflet of a sigh sounded--and as it sounded
became the first long breath of sleep.
The Boston aunt stood some time by the bed, tall and straight like a
grenadier on watch. Suddenly she stooped down and placed a kiss upon the
curve of cheek emerging from the folds of the pillow. Immediately she was
erect again. "Poor darned little girl!" she said.
She paused again, out in the dining-room, her eyes far away. "_He_ tried
that once on me," she said reminiscently. A gleam of humor lit up her
gray eyes. "I fixed him," she said decidedly. And then, with some
tenderness: "Poor great big things," she said; "what chance have they
against us!"
Upon which she went into the kitchen where lay a pile of viscous dishes,
eloquent of the home's demoralization.
When Dolly emerged from her room some twenty-four hours later, her face
was pale and her little nose was red, and she seemed a bit dazed.
"Hello, Dolly," said the Boston aunt, looking up and giving the
sofa-cushion she was arranging a final thump; "hello, Dolly; come into
the kitchen and have some breakfast."
Upon the gas stove she toasted bread and poached two eggs, which she laid
before Dolly like two triumphant suns glowing through a fragrant haze of
coffee. Dolly successively suppressed the joyous acclaim which
instinctively rose from her whole being at the sight; but she ate. Rather
mincingly, of course; but still, on the whole, efficiently. At times she
closed her eyes, and then from beneath the lowered lids a few tears came
gliding without friction. "Now," said the aunt, after the last crumb of
toast had disappeared; "let's go into the other room and hear about it."
She led the way into that little room, which was fairly encumbered with
coziness. She took one of the rocking-chairs. Dolly sank into the other.
By keeping the same rhythm, there was space for both to swing at the
same time. Dolly swayed back and forth three times, and then burst into
tears. "He has left me, Auntie; Goosie is gone; ooh-ooh!" The aunt's
chair ceased rocking with an abruptness that made their knees bump.
Dolly's chair stopped; she looked at her aunt in astonishment. Aunt
Hester was sitting up very straight. "Do you mean to say," she began, and
then paused as though unable to believe the evidence; "do you mean to
say," she went on, "do you mean to say, Dolly Sims, that you made me come
down all the way from Boston just because Charles-Norton is gone?"
"Why, yes," answered Dolly, petrified. "Why, yes. Isn't that enough;
isn't it _enough_? My life is ruined! Ruined! Oo-oo-ooh"--and her eyes,
ablaze for an instant, became veiled by a filmy cascade.
"Pooh," said Aunt Hester, decidedly; "pooh. Charles-Norton is gone; well,
he'll come back."
"He's not coming back," wailed Dolly, indignantly; "he's _not_! He has
dee-s-s-er-ted me!"
"Deserted," jeered Aunt Hester. "Charles-Norton! A fine chance
Charles-Norton has to desert you, Dolly! First of all, he couldn't make
himself want to, no matter how much he tried. And if he did want to, he
couldn't. You wouldn't let him, Dolly!"
"Wouldn't let him! Oh! Do you think, Auntie, that I am so low, so base,
so devoid of pride, as to keep a man who----"
"Toot-toot," said Aunt Hester; "toot-toot--you can't help it. Have you
ever read that fellow Darwin, Dolly?"
"Darwin," said Dolly, rather astonished at the turn taken by the
conversation; "Darwin--did he write 'When Knighthood was in Flower'?"
Aunt Hester opened her mouth like a fish suddenly whisked out of water.
She closed it again. By the time she spoke, she had suppressed something.
"No, no, Dolly," she said. "_Darwin_, the--well, it doesn't matter. We've
been reading him lately, anyway, at the Cooking Club. That chap _knows_
things, Dolly. He didn't tell me anything I didn't know ahead myself; but
he _explained_ lots of things I had found out. You should read him."
"I'll read him, Auntie," said Dolly, with dolorous voice. "I suppose I'll
have to read now, or paint china, or do something like that, now that
Charles, that Charles, that Charles----"
"Oh, Charles, Charles, Charles," echoed Aunt Hester, but in much
different tone; "you'll get your Charles back. Charles-Norton! He has as
much chance to escape you--as the earth has to stop whirling around. You
baby! Why, you've got all Nature on your side, plotting and scheming for
you. _His_ dice are loaded; he can't win!"
"Aunty, what _are_ you talking about! Here I am, un-unhappy, and needing,
needing, needing friendship, and you sit and talk--I don't know what."
"For, what is Charles-Norton?" continued the Boston lady, as though she
had not heard Dolly. "What is Charles-Norton? A man. Hence, a clung-to."
"A clung-to!" exclaimed Dolly, a dreadful suspicion beginning to add
itself to her greater trouble.
"Just so--a clung-to. And the direct heir of hundreds and hundreds and
thousands and thousands of clung-tos. For of the men since the beginning
of the world, Dolly, it's only the clung-tos that survived, or rather
that had babies that survived----"
"Auntie!" admonished Dolly.
"Certainly," went on Aunt Hester, seemingly misinterpreting Dolly's
interruption. "They alone had babies that survived. The babies of the
others--well, they starved, or fell into the fire, or were massacred in
the wars. So that now there _are_ no others. There are only descendants
of clung-tos, and hence clung-tos. Charles-Norton, Dolly, is a clung-to!"
"But, Auntie," protested Dolly, "he isn't any horrid such thing. And he's
gone, he's gone--and I certainly won't _force_ him to----"
"And you, Dolly," pursued Aunt Hester, unruffled, as though a professor
addressing a group of freshmen. "And you, Dolly, what are you? A woman.
Hence a cling-to."
"A cling-to!" screamed Dolly.
"Certainly. A cling-to. The end of a line of thousands and thousands of
cling-tos. For of the women since the beginning of the world, Dolly,
which survived? The cling-tos. They alone were able to live, and to have
baby-girls who survived--if cling-tos. The others, and the babies of the
others, they starved; that's all, Dolly, they starved. No mastodon steak
for them, Dolly; no nice wing-bone of ictiosaurus--they starved. So that
there are now no others--or mighty few. You, Dolly, being alive and well
and a woman, are inevitably a cling-to."
"Auntie! Auntie!" murmured Dolly, puzzled and horrified.
"To recapitulate," Aunt Hester swept on. "To recapitulate: Charles-Norton
is a clung-to; you are a cling-to. Neither of you can help him or
herself. For it is the very essence of the being of the one to hold, of
the other to be held."
"How horrible!" said Dolly, with a shudder.
"In other words, my dears," went on the aunt; "in other words, you are
_dreadfully_ in love with each other and can't keep apart."
"Love!" moaned Dolly.
"Love," the aunt repeated firmly.
Dolly rocked for a time; tears again were dropping fast from the end of
her eye-lashes. "But he _doesn't_ love me," she wailed at length. "And he
_isn't_ a, a--that horrid Chinesy word you call him, and he is gone,
gone!"
"Oh, my dear, of course," said Aunt Hester; "of course, things are not
quite as simple as I have been describing them. A woman has to use some
sense about it these days. This clinging business has become more
complicated with civilization. You may have erred in the details. Now,
tell me what has happened, all that has happened."
And Dolly, in a rush of words, told the lamentable story of her domestic
woe, of her struggle with the wings of Charles-Norton.
Aunt Hester was silent for a time; then she nodded her head
affirmatively. "Yes, that's it, my dear," she said. "It is as I
suspected. You have been clinging with your eyes shut. And in these
perilous times it is necessary to cling with eyes open. You----"
But Dolly had risen to her feet, vibrant. "Do you mean to say," she
began, and her voice was very low and tense; "do you mean to say that I
should be subjected to living with a man--with a man"--her voice
rose--"with a man, Auntie, who has _Wings_?"
"Oh, my dear!" exclaimed Aunt Hester, hastily, "you mistake me. Of
_course_, I am not asking _that_ of you. But that is not necessary
either. The essential--it is to let Charles-Norton _believe_ that he has
his wings, not that he should have them. And then, my dear, to be frank,
to be just, I must say that this seems to me a case for compromise. Yes,
dear, you should allow Charles-Norton part of his wings; oh yes, you
should really let him have a bit of these wings. And _that_ bit, Dolly,
if you are the wise and capable little girl I think you can be, you
should turn to the advantage, to the preservation, to the
prosperity--hem--of the home!"
Dolly sat down, weak and trembling. She was silent for a long time. When
she spoke again, it was in a tired voice. "Auntie," she said, "you mean
well. I know that you are trying to help me and am very thankful to you.
But we have differing views of Life. I am willing to do much for
Charles-Norton--Oh, so much! I am willing to meet him half-way,
three-quarters of the way, the whole way, on ever so many things, and I
have done so. But when it comes to a question, Auntie, of self-respect,
of morality, of _Decency_, then, Auntie, never! On that, there can be no
compromise. Charles-Norton cannot have wings."
"Oh, very well," said Aunt Hester, plainly nettled; "very well, very
well. Then, what are you going to do?"
"Nothing," said Dolly, decidedly. "I will give him up," she said very
firmly. "I will give him up," she repeated grandiloquently. "I will give
him up," she said a third time--and broke out weeping.
"That," said Aunt Hester, "is what is known as the _grand stunt_, and is
rather popular these days. I've seen many try it, and mighty few achieve
it. And you, Dolly"--she rose and stood with a hand upon the shaking
shoulders beneath her--"and you, you little soft Dolly, why, you are
about the last----"
"I shall not lift a finger," interrupted Dolly. "If he, he, he does not
love me, I, I shall, not stoop to hold him!"
"Well," said Aunt Hester, briskly, "I am going now. I----"
"Going!" cried Dolly, desolately.
"I am going," repeated Aunt Hester, firmly. "There is nothing I can do
here. And there're Earl's socks to be looked after (he is just entering
Cambridge, you know), and Ethel's frocks (she's at the High School), and
then there is your uncle--suppose he gets it into _his_ head to sprout
feathers! No, no--I'm going home. _I'm_ willing to be what Nature said I
had to be. _I_ don't take any chances with those new-fangled grand-stunts.
Besides, if you are just going to do nothing, why, then, you can do that
without me."
And setting her bonnet upon her nice gray hair, Aunt Hester picked up her
grip and marched out into the hall.
"Auntie! Auntie!" cried Dolly, running after her.
Aunt Hester stopped at the opened door and turned. She confronted Dolly,
and the will-o'-the-wisp was dancing in the profundities of her deep-set
eyes. A tenderness came into them; she dropped her grip, seized Dolly,
and drew her close.
"Dear little Dolly," she whispered; "you'll do it, don't you fear. You'll
bring back your Charles-Norton, you soft little woman, you; you'll get
him! And now, kiss me good-by. Write to me--when you decide."
The door closed, and leaning against it, Dolly wept a long time. Then
she went within and in a more comfortable position, wept more. She wept
for a whole week. And then, suddenly, one afternoon, she stood up in the
center of the room and began stamping her foot.
"I won't," she said, with each stamp of the little foot. "I won't, I
won't, I won't!"
And saying "I won't," she did. She sat down at the table and on her pale
blue letter paper, wrote:
"DEAR AUNTIE:--Yes, you were right, I guess. I _am_ a
cling-to. I want him. I don't care: he's mine and I
_won't_ give him up. Tell me how to do it, Auntie, oh,
tell me how! Quick, Auntie, quick!"
The answer was not long in coming. "Dearest Little Dolly," wrote Aunt
Hester; "of course, I knew you would, and I am glad. As to telling you
how--well, that is very simple. Just go to him, Dolly. Go to him (not too
soon; wait a while) and just stick around. Your instincts will tell you
the rest. Rely on your instincts, Dolly," went on this incorrigible
Darwinian. "They are better than your reason, for they are the reason of
your mother and grandmother, and all the line of mothers that came before
you. _They_ had to be right, Dolly, or they wouldn't have been, and then
_you_ wouldn't be. Go to him, and stick around, and do as you feel like
doing. In all probability you'll be nice, and humble, and snuggledy, and
warm. And then, make--your arrangements. _He_ can't help himself. Nature
is on your side. His dice are loaded. Cling, Dolly, cling."
Dolly blushed. "Auntie is horrid," she said. And then, after a while,
"But right," she said.