Selma Gordon had refused David Hull! Half a dozen explanations of this
astounding occurrence rapidly suggested themselves. Jane rejected each
in turn at a glance. "You're sure she understood you?"
"I made myself as clear as I did when I proposed to you," replied Davy
with a lack of tact which a woman of Jane's kind would never forget or
forgive.
Jane winced, ignored. Said she: "You must have insisted on some
conditions she hesitated to accept."
"On her own terms," said Davy.
Jane gave up trying to get the real reason from him, sought it in
Selma's own words and actions. She inquired: "What did she say? What
reason did she give?"
"That she owed it to the cause of her class not to marry a man of my
class," answered Hull, believing that he was giving the exact and the
only reason she assigned or had.
Jane gave a faint smile of disdain. "Women don't act from a sense of
duty," she said.
"She's not the ordinary woman," said Hull. "You must remember she
wasn't brought up as you and I were--hasn't our ideas of life. The
things that appeal to us most strongly don't touch her. She knows
nothing about them." He added, "And that's her great charm for me."
Jane nodded sympathetically. Her own case exactly. After a brief
hesitation she suggested:
"Perhaps Selma's in love with--some one else." The pause before the
vague "some one else" was almost unnoticeable.
"With Victor Dorn, you mean?" said Davy. "I asked her about that. No,
she's not in love with him."
"As if she'd tell you!"
Davy looked at her a little scornfully. "Don't insinuate," he said.
"You know she would. There's nothing of the ordinary tricky, evasive,
faking woman about her. And although she's got plenty of excuse for
being conceited, she isn't a bit so. She isn't always thinking about
herself, like the girls of our class."
"I don't in the least wonder at your being in love with her, Davy,"
said Jane sweetly. "Didn't I tell you I admired your taste--and your
courage?"
"You're sneering at me," said Davy. "All the same, it did take
courage--for I'm a snob at bottom--like you--like all of us who've been
brought up so foolishly--so rottenly. But I'm proud that I had the
courage. I've had a better opinion of myself ever since. And if you
have any unspoiled womanhood in you, you agree with me."
"I do agree with you," said Jane softly. She reached out and laid her
hand on his arm for an instant. "That's honest, Davy."
He gave her a grateful look. "I know it," said he. "The reason I
confide things to you is because I know you're a real woman at bottom,
Jane--the only real person I've ever happened across in our class."
"It took more courage for you to do that sort of thing than it would
for a woman," said Jane. "It's more natural, easier for a woman to
stake everything in love. If she hasn't the man she wants she hasn't
anything, while a man's wife can be a mere detail in his life. He can
forget he's married, most of the time."
"That isn't the way I intend to be married," said Davy. "I want a wife
who'll be half, full half, of the whole. And I'll get her."
"You mean you haven't given up?"
"Why should I? She doesn't love another man. So, there's hope. Don't
you think so?"
Jane was silent. She hastily debated whether it would be wiser to say
yes or to say no.
"Don't you think so?" repeated he.
"How can I tell?" replied Jane, diplomatically. "I'd have to see her
with you--see how she feels toward you."
"I think she likes me," said Davy, "likes me a good deal."
Jane kept her smile from the surface. What a man always thought, no
matter how plainly a woman showed that she detested him. "No doubt she
does," said Jane. She had decided upon a course of action. "If I were
you, Davy, I'd keep away from her for the present--give her time to
think it over, to see all the advantages. If a man forces himself on a
queer, wild sort of girl such as Selma is, he's likely to drive her
further away."
Davy reflected. "Guess you're right," said he finally. "My instinct
is always to act--to keep on acting until I get results. But it's
dangerous to do that with Selma. At least, I think so. I don't know.
I don't understand her. I've got nothing to offer her--nothing that
she wants--as she frankly told me. Even if she loved me, I doubt if
she'd marry me--on account of her sense of duty. What you said awhile
ago--about women never doing things from a sense of duty--that shows
how hard it is for a woman to understand what's perfectly simple to a
man. Selma isn't the sheltered woman sort--the sort whose moral
obligations are all looked after by the men of her family. The
old-fashioned woman always belonged to some man--or else was an
outcast. This new style of woman looks at life as a man does."
Jane listened with a somewhat cynical expression. No doubt, in theory,
there was a new style of woman. But practically, the new style of woman
merely TALKED differently; at least, she was still the old-fashioned
woman, longing for dependence upon some man and indifferent to the
obligations men made such a fuss about--probably not so sincerely as
they fancied. But her expression changed when Davy went on to say:
"She'd look at a thing of that sort much as I--or Victor Dorn would."
Jane's heart suddenly sank. Because the unconscious blow had hurt she
struck out, struck back with the first weapon she could lay hold of.
"But you said a minute ago that Victor was a hypocritical demagogue."
Davy flushed with confusion. He was in a franker mood now, however.
"I'd like to think that," he replied. "But I don't honestly believe
it."
"You think that if Victor Dorn loved a woman of our class he'd put her
out of his life?"
"That's hardly worth discussing," said Davy. "No woman of our
class--no woman he'd be likely to look at--would encourage him to the
point where he'd presume upon it."
"How narrow you are!" cried Jane, derisive but even more angry.
"It's different--entirely different--with a man, even in our class.
But a woman of our class--she's a lady or she's nothing at all. And a
lady couldn't be so lacking in refinement as to descend to a man
socially beneath her."
"I can see how ANY woman might fall in love with Victor Dorn."
"You're just saying that to be argumentative," said Davy with
conviction. "Take yourself, for example."
"I confess I don't see any such contrast between Victor and you--except
where the comparison's altogether in his favor," said Jane pleasantly.
"You don't know as much as he does. You haven't the independence of
character--or the courage--or the sincerity. You couldn't be a real
leader, as he is. You have to depend on influence, and on trickery."
A covert glance at the tall, solemn-looking young man riding silently
beside her convinced her that he was as uncomfortable as she had hoped
to make him.
"As for manners--and the things that go to make a gentleman," she went
on, "I'm not sure but that there, too, the comparison is against you.
You always suggest to me that if you hadn't the pattern set for men of
our class and didn't follow it, you'd be absolutely lost, Davy, dear.
While Victor--he's a fine, natural person, with the manners that grow
as naturally out of his personality as oak leaves grow out of an oak."
Jane was astonished and delighted by this eloquence of hers about the
man she loved--an eloquence far above her usual rather commonplace mode
of speech and thought. Love was indeed an inspirer! What a person she
would become when she had Victor always stimulating her. She went on:
"A woman would never grow tired of Victor. He doesn't talk stale stuff
such as all of us get from the stale little professors and stale,
dreary text-books at our colleges."
"Why don't you fall in love with him?" said Davy sourly.
"I do believe you're envious of Victor Dorn," retorted Jane.
"What a disagreeable mood you're in to-day," said Davy.
"So a man always thinks when a woman speaks well of another man in his
presence."
"I didn't suspect you of being envious of Selma. Why should you
suspect me of feeling ungenerously about Victor? Fall in love with him
if you like. Heaven knows, I'd do nothing to stop it."
"Perhaps I shall," said Jane, with unruffled amiability. "You're
setting a dangerous example of breaking down class lines."
"Now, Jane, you know perfectly well that while, if I married Selma
she'd belong to my class, a woman of our class marrying Victor Dorn
would sink to his class. Why quarrel about anything so obviously true?"
"Victor Dorn belongs to a class by himself," replied Jane. "You forget
that men of genius are not regarded like you poor ordinary mortals."
Davy was relieved that they had reached the turning at which they had
to separate. "I believe you are in love with him," said he as a
parting shot.
Jane, riding into her lane, laughed gayly, mockingly. She arrived at
home in fine humor. It pleased her that Davy, for all his love for
Selma, could yet be jealous of Victor Dorn on her account. And more
than ever, after this talk with him--the part of it that preceded the
quarrel--she felt that she was doing a fine, brave, haughtily
aristocratic thing in loving Victor Dorn. Only a woman with a royal
soul would venture to be thus audacious.
Should she encourage or discourage the affair between Davy and Selma?
There was much to be said for this way of removing Selma from her path;
also, if a man of Davy Hull's position married beneath him, less would
be thought of her doing the same thing. On the other hand, she felt
that she had a certain property right in David Hull, and that Selma was
taking what belonged to her. This, she admitted to herself, was mean
and small, was unworthy of the woman who was trying to be worthy of
Victor Dorn, of such love as she professed for him. Yes, mean and
small. She must try to conquer it.
But--when she met Selma in the woods a few mornings later, her dominant
emotions were anything but high-minded and generous. Selma was looking
her most fascinating--wild and strange and unique. They caught sight
of each other at the same instant. Jane came composedly on--Selma made
a darting movement toward a by-path opening near her, hesitated, stood
like some shy, lovely bird of the deep wilderness ready to fly away
into hiding.
"Hello, Selma!" said Jane carelessly.
Selma looked at her with wide, serious eyes.
"Where have you been keeping yourself of late? Busy with the writing,
I suppose?"
"I owe you an apology," said Selma, in a queer, suppressed voice. "I
have been hating you, and trying to think of some way to keep you and
Victor Dorn apart. I thought it was from my duty to the cause. I've
found out that it was a low, mean personal reason."
Jane had stopped short, was regarding her with eyes that glowed in a
pallid face. "Because you are in love with him?" she said.
Selma gave a quick, shamed nod. "Yes," she said--the sound was
scarcely audible.
Selma's frank and generous--and confiding--self-sacrifice aroused no
response in Jane Hastings. For the first time in her life she was
knowing what it meant to hate.
"And I've got to warn you," Selma went on, "that I am going to do
whatever I can to keep you from hindering him. Not because I love him,
but because I owe it to the cause. He belongs to it, and I must help
him be single-hearted for it. You could only be a bad influence in his
life. I think you would like to be a sincere woman; but you can't.
Your class is too strong for you. So--it would be wrong for Victor Dorn
to love and to marry you. I think he realizes it and is struggling to
be true to himself. I intend to help him, if I can."
Jane smiled cruelly. "What hypocrisy!" she said, and turned and walked
away.