Linda decided that he had told her a rather stupid fairy story. She was
too old for such ridiculous things as ladies in their shining hair on a
leopard. She remembered clearly seeing one of the latter at a zoological
garden. It had yellow eyes, but no one would care to ride on it. Her
mother, she was certain, knew more about love than any man. His words
faded quickly from her memory, but a confused rich sense stirred her
heart, a feeling such as she experienced after an unusually happy day:
white gloves and music and Mr. Jasper displeased.
A clock chimed ten, and she proceeded to her mother's room, where she
must wait up with her information about Mr. Jasper's wife. She was
furious at him for a carelessness that had brought her mother such
unfavorable criticism. Everything had been put away before going down,
and there was nothing for her to do. The time dragged tediously. The
hands of the traveling-clock in purple leather on the dressing-table
moved deliberately around to eleven. A ringing of ice in one of the
metal pitchers carried by the bell boys sounded from the corridor. There
was the faint wail of a baby.
Suddenly and acutely Linda was lonely--a new kind of loneliness that had
nothing to do with the fact that she was by herself. It was a strange
cold unhappiness, pressing over her like a cloud and, at the same time,
it was nothing at all. That is, there was no reason for it. The room was
brightly lighted and, anyhow, she wasn't afraid of “things.” She thought
that at any minute she must cry like that baby. After a little she felt
better; rather the unhappiness changed to wanting. What she wanted was
a puzzle; but nothing else would satisfy her. It might be a necklace of
little pearls, but it wasn't. It might be--. Now it was twelve o'clock.
Dear, dear, why didn't she come back!
Music, awfully faint, and a whisper, like a dress, across the floor.
Her emotion changed again, to an extraordinary delight, a glow like that
which filled her at the expression of her adoration for her mother, but
infinitely greater. She was seated, and she lifted her head with her
eyes closed and hands clasped. The clock pointed to one and her parent
came into the room.
“Linda,” she exclaimed crossly, “whatever are you doing up? A bad little
girl. I told you to be asleep hours before this.”
“There is something you had to know right away,” Linda informed her
solemnly. “I only just heard it from Mrs. Randall and Miss Skillern.”
Her mother's flushed face hardened. “Mr. Jasper is married,” Linda said.
Mrs. Condon dropped with an angry flounce into a chair. Her broad scarf
of sealskin slipped from one shoulder. Her hat was crooked and her hair
disarranged. “So that's it,” she said bitterly; “and they went to you.
The dam' old foxes. They went to you, nothing more than a child.”
Linda put in, “They didn't mean to; it just sort of came out. I knew
you'd stop as soon as you heard. Wasn't it horrid of him?”
“And this,” Mrs. Condon declared, “is what I get for being, yes--proper.
“I said to-night, 'George,' I said, 'go right back home. It's the only
thing. They have a right to you.' I told him that only to-night. And,
'No, I must consider my little Linda.' If I had held up my finger,”
she held up a finger to show the smallness of the act necessary, “where
would we have all been?
“But this is what I get. You might think the world would notice a
woman's best efforts. No, they all try to crowd her and see her slip. If
they don't watch out I'll skid, all right, and with some one they least
expect. I have opportunities.”
Linda realized with a sense of confusion that her mother had known of
Mr. Jasper's marriage all the while. But she had nobly tried to save him
from something; just what Linda couldn't make out. The other's breath
was heavy with drinking.
“You go to bed, Lin,” she continued; “and thank you for taking care of
mama. I hope to goodness you'll learn from all this--pick out what
you want and make for it. Don't bother with the antique frumps, the
disappointed old tabbies. Have your fun. There's nothing else. If you
like a man, be on the level with him--give and take. Men are not saints
and we're better for it; we don't live in a heaven. You've got a sweet
little figure. Always remember mama telling you that the most expensive
corsets are the cheapest in the end.”
Linda undressed slowly and methodically, her mother's words ringing
in her head. Always remember--but of course she would have the nicest
things possible.... A keepsake and faint music. She thought, privately,
that she was too thin; she'd rather be her mother, with shoulders like
bunches of smooth pink roses. In bed, just as she was falling asleep, a
sound disturbed her from the corridor above--the slow tramping of heavy
feet, like a number of men carefully bearing an awkward object. She
listened with suspended breath while they passed. The footfalls seemed
to pound on her heart. Slowly, slowly they went, unnatural and measured.
They were gone now, but she still heard them. The crashing of her mother
into bed followed with a deep sigh. The long fall of a wave on the shore
was audible. Two things contended in her stilled brain--the mysterious
feeling of desire and her mother's advice. They were separate and
fought, yet they were strangely incomprehensibly joined.