Everet seldom leaves Helen's side. When he is not with her, he is
watching her. The house is too crowded for comfort, and Helen has not
had enough experience yet to enjoy it. She always feels a little
bewildered after one o'clock, and remarks to Everet as he stands by her
while she leans back in a chair, wearily, that she always feels as
though she ought to be in bed after eleven. She laughs, a sweet, excited
little laugh as she looks up at him. He wonders how long so charming a
child will retain her naivete in such an atmosphere.
She delights him. There is a simplicity about her manner and expression
that fascinates him--and yet she is a polished woman of the world. She
is surely that, but the difference between herself and other women of
the world is--that she is not a worldly woman.
Once, during the evening, Braine is near her, and says with suppressed
elation:
"You are charming to-night, Helen. I have never seen you more beautiful.
Everet is strongly attracted."
Helen looks up quickly. She says with a little deprecation in her tone,
and a little entreaty in her eyes;
"He only admires me as he does other nice looking women, Ed. Indeed, you
need not mind. I will keep out of his way, if you don't like it."
Braine listens at first in surprise, then bursts into a low, happy
laugh. He covertly presses her hand, and says, as he moves away to make
room for Everet, who is coming with an ice for Helen:
"I don't mind, I assure you. You needn't take pains to keep out of his
way. I am perfectly satisfied with my wife. I am delighted that this man
is so interested as he is--only be cautious, dear; don't let it be too
obvious to others--you understand?"
Helen does not understand, but Everet is at her side, and she has to
turn to him, and say something, or listen to him.
Her mind runs on Braine's few words, and they trouble her. While she
answers the questions of this one and that, and makes trite, witty,
serious, politic, or straightforward little speeches, as one case or
another demands, she is turning over Braine's words in her mind.
Perhaps Everet is one who can be of service to Edgar, and he thinks it
as well for her to be civil. She is a little piqued at his last
words--"be cautious, don't let it be too apparent to others--" as though
she were likely to permit an aggression on Everet's part more quickly in
private than she would in public. It wounds her a little that he should
have said so thoughtless a thing. It would be terrible if he _thought_
so _horrible_ a thing.
As she sees Braine from to time to time in the crowd, she notices that
the worried, anxious expression she has noted for the last week, is no
longer on his face. He is charming to-night. His personality has never
so strongly impressed her, or apparently other people either.
Everet notices how her glance follows Braine's flexile figure, that is
full of strength and dignity, and once, remarks with a smile, and a
little amusement in his tone:
"You are a great admirer of your husband?"
She looks up at him, and says quite innocently,
"I love him."
Everet's smile becomes one of approval, almost of tenderness.
At last she is near Braine again, and says a little wistfully:
"May we not go home soon?"
He looks at the flushed, weary face, beautiful in its ennui and
excitement, and says:
"At once if you wish it," and suddenly the desire possesses him to have
her in the carriage, alone, quite to himself, in his arms, and he seems
a little impatient while Everet folds her wrap about her, and is asking
which is her "day."
Helen says with an airy little informality that she has no day for her
friends--the _days_ are theirs.
As they step out into the cold air, Braine draws Helen's furs still
closer about her throat. There is a tenderness and passion in his action
that she has missed these last weeks. It delights her, and causes the
hot blood to surge over her face and neck, leaving her in a quivering
little ecstacy, for a moment after she is in the carriage.
Braine, standing outside, is pushing her gown about her, and pulling the
rug over her lap as he directs the coachman. And Helen is saying in
husky little trebles, so that only he hears:
"Ed.--Ed."
Some one at this moment runs down the steps to say some nearly forgotten
thing to Braine, and as he talks he is acknowledging Helen's little
appeals by covert pressure of the hand that is inside the coupe. Finally
he gets in, and closes the door.
As they roll away, Braine draws her into his arms. It seems to both that
they have been waiting all night for this moment. After a time, Braine
says:
"I have never loved you more than at this moment. I believe until
to-night I have never fully realized how magnificent you are. You are
not where you belong. You are not where you shall be. I want to see you
there," nodding his head in the direction of the White House.
Helen does not understand, but she is glad.
He is excited. Every fibre of his being is responsive. He holds her hand
in his, and kisses it repeatedly, passionately. She laughs in a nervous,
hysterical way, and leans her head against him. She half sobs:
"I want to be here, Ed. This satisfies me."
He presses her to him and answers:
"I am not satisfied _for_ you. A little patience, and you shall have
all. There is nothing that we cannot accomplish together. I am
ambitious. There is no reason why I should not be. Ambition is a worthy
sentiment. Yes, I am ambitious for myself, but it whets my appetite for
the great things of earth, when I see you as you have been to-night,
when I hold you as I do now. Sometimes it half angers me when I see you
lacking appreciation of yourself. You do not know your own value, child;
other people know it. You could be a power, if you would. You must. I--"
He leans back to look at her. He has imparted something of his
enthusiasm and intensity to her, and her fingers play nervously with the
cords of her cloak. Her eyes gleam in the dusk.
Braine notes every little detail about her--how the flash from an
electric light makes the tiara in her hair sparkle; how white her hands
look as they lie buried in the fur of the rug; how the little tendrils
of hair cling to her neck. He thinks vehemently: "How I love this woman!
How I love this woman!"
They stop in front of the house, and they go silently up the steps. Both
are thinking. Woolet opens the door for them, making a vain endeavor to
appear dignified and wide awake. But it is sufficiently evident that he
has been asleep in the hall.
Helen goes directly up the stairs, and Braine passes on to the library,
saying:
"I have a little work to do--I will be up in five minutes--wait for me."
Susanne is asleep with her head on the dressing-table. Helen says
kindly, as the little, plump thing makes an effort to wake up:
"Go to bed, child. I will look after myself to-night."
Susanne goes, and Helen stands a moment, looking at her reflection in
the glass. She smiles at it. She says half aloud:
"Yes, I am very beautiful. I love beautiful things"--with a nod at
herself. She unfastens her gown, and it slips to the floor; she steps
out of it. She takes the pins from her hair and it falls over her
shoulders with a little swish. Braine taps at the door. She calls: "One
moment, Ed."
She throws about her the negligee on the chair and calls, "Come in,"
adding, "You didn't have much to do," as Braine enters the room.
"If I _did_, I didn't do it," with a little laugh. He throws himself
into a chair by her dressing-room fire. After a moment he says:
"Come here, dear."
Helen is brushing her hair at the mirror. She puts down the brush and
goes over to him. He pulls her down beside him. For a moment they sit
silently, cheek to cheek, looking into the fire together. Finally,
Braine says in a low voice:
"I want to talk to you, dear, about--about a business matter." He
pauses.
Helen smiles a little mistily. She does not know anything about business
matters, but she will like to hear about anything if he tells it. She
says:
"Well?"
Braine hesitates a moment, and then says, with a little effort to appear
quite natural:
"I don't want to trouble you with details, dear, but I must, a little. I
want you to help me in a difficult task--to help _us_, for this means
everything to both. You believe in your husband, do you not, Helen?"
"I will not answer that question, Ed. You can answer it yourself." She
caresses his head gently, and waits for him to go on.
"Well, I meant the question seriously enough. You know I can do much,
but I wonder if you believe me capable of all I can do? You know how the
newspapers talk of me as 'the wizard,' because I have achieved very
quickly things that most men find it difficult to achieve at all. They
believe in me, but they would think me insane if I were to tell them of
the plans I am going to tell you of. I wonder if your belief in me is
enough firmer than theirs, to let you share my ideas without distrusting
my ability to make them facts?"
He receives sufficient answer in a caress which has tears of joy in it.
He muses a while, and then takes up his discourse at a different point.
"It _is_ rather a dramatic story, I suppose, as ordinary people look at
things. I was rolling barrels on the levee at Thebes not many years ago.
I got my fingers in on the _Enterprise_ with my mind set on making
myself felt, and I made the _Enterprise_ a power. I was not easily
appalled, as I showed when I set out to make the noblest woman in the
world my wife, to take, as all my own, the one perfect example of what
God meant when he created woman"--Here a long pause occurs in the
monologue.
"When Hildreth thought to make me a serviceable tool for him and his
millionaire partners to work with, I whipped out the combination in six
or eight weeks, and I taught them once for all who was master by virtue
of superior intellect, when they and I had occasion to work together in
any matter. I was poor and needed wealth for the sake of the opportunity
it gives. I set to work to achieve wealth, and in three months my name
was good enough to stand alone in any bank from New York to San
Francisco. I planned the systematizing of the railroad lines centering
at Thebes, and created almost a new West by the operation, enriching a
whole people. I decided to be a Senator, with my party in an apparently
hopeless minority, and I achieved the result with as much precision as
if it had been merely the drawing of a straight line with a ruler. I
have not been taking wine, dear, and I am not running over these things
to boast of them. I care nothing whatever for what is behind me. I only
say all this to show you what I mean when I say that from the earliest
time I can remember, I have never in my life made up my mind to
accomplish anything, without succeeding in the attempt. I want you to
bear that in mind when I tell you that I have made up my mind to
be--well, to place you in the highest position possible to any American
woman. With your help I can accomplish that, as I have accomplished
everything else."
"Oh, Ed, you frighten me. I am content as we are. Your ambition is
eating you up. For myself, life has brought me--no, it is you that have
brought me all, and more than all. I only want--this!" clasping her arms
about him, and pressing him close. "I would give up everything for you,
Ed, and it is for your sake that I want you to give up all further
ambitions for me. You do not care for these things, dear, except for my
sake, and I care for nothing except to have you love me. You are great
and good. You do not need honors. Let us let them alone."
"I cannot, Helen. I might but for you. I do not know; it is my nature to
go forward; I cannot stand still: but I might if it were not for you.
How can I rest when I remember that there is one woman in Washington
whose place is so exalted that she is held exempt from the duty of
returning calls, and that woman is not my Helen! I tell you I must work
out the plans I have formed, and I need your help. Now let me explain.
I'll spare you every detail I can, and keep to the bare outline."
"Go on," she says, "I like you to tell me stories, Ed, and you haven't
told me many of late. Your business has taken you away so much, till I
have almost come to hate business."
Braine feels a little sting in this reminder, which Helen has not meant
to put there, but he is too intent upon his purpose to pause for its
removal.
"I have worked already at this thing, dear, night and day for months. I
have made alliances in all directions, in every quarter of the country.
I have set every force at work which can be in any way controlled. The
next step is to produce a break here. This administration is the
obstacle in my way, and I mean to break it down!"
"Oh, Edgar!" exclaims Helen, less in protest against a proposal which
startles and shocks her a little, than in admiration of the superb
audacity of the man who sits holding her hand while he announces a
purpose seemingly so stupendous. Braine continues, scarcely noticing the
interruption:
"Yes, and I have that practically arranged, too, except for one thing. I
must produce the break by getting the coming presidential
appointments--the most important of the whole term, in some
respects--rejected by the Senate. There are three men in the Senate who
must make the fight their own in order to make the break in the party
irreparable, except by the retirement of the President from the contest
for nomination at the end of the term. These men are privately
interested in the whiskey tax bill, which is certainly lost in committee
unless I force its passage. I've been working at that for two months,
and have not yet succeeded. I _want your help in that_."
"But, Edgar, you know I don't understand politics, or--"
"It's not necessary that you should. Heaven forbid that you ever shall!
The only obstacle is Everet. He is chairman of the committee that has
the bill in charge. He can report it favorably, and if I could induce
him to do it, I could manage the rest. But I cannot. I have exhausted my
resources of argument and persuasion, and he will not yield. It has
worried me more than I like you to know, dear. I have said nothing,
because I didn't want to trouble you. But you can help me now, if you
will."
Helen looks up, elated:
"I can help? I'm glad of that, Ed, but it seems funny to think of my
helping in _business_, doesn't it?" with a little laugh.
Braine is so intent on the matter that he only replies by a pat of the
hand. He continues:
"Yes, you can help. I will tell you what I want you to do. Everet is
fascinated with you. He hardly left your side to-night, and when he did,
his eyes followed you. Everet is the only one whose support I must have
now. You must get this for me. You can do it--"
"Why, Ed?--" She stares at him inquiringly. "What could I do, dear?"
For a moment Edgar looks annoyed. This is becoming a little awkward--for
a husband. He starts to speak, then hesitates for a moment, then begins:
"Your woman's cleverness should prompt you, Helen. You understand little
politic devices to a considerable extent; it is only necessary that you
enlarge upon it in a smaller field. Everet will call, of course. There
is--no reason why he should--" she is looking at him--"not call as often
as he chooses, nor why he should not choose to call often--nor why
you--should not use your influence to our advantage--to the end of
gaining his support for me. Do you understand?"
He ceases. There is absolute silence. Helen is still looking at him. It
is not comfortable for one's wife to look at one under _all_
circumstances. She speaks hesitatingly:
"You--you mean for me to--to try and attract Everet--in order to cajole
him into doing your will in this?"
There is bewilderment, disgust, astonishment expressed in her voice. She
looks somewhat scandalized. Braine laughs a little uneasily:
"Yes, that--is _about_ it."
She remains on her knees, looking at him for a moment--then slowly
rises. There is indignation expressed in every movement of her body.
She looks hurt, humiliated, insulted. She says excitedly:
"You don't know what you are saying. This miserable business--whatever
it is--has gone to your head. I--I--I--"
She stammers in excitement. Braine rises and speaks entreatingly:
"No, I know what I am asking of you. It is not pleasant, to be sure. It
hurts me worse than it can you, but, Helen--" with a desperate
impulse--"Helen, this has _got_ to be done. I _must_ have Everet's
support. Things have come to a desperate pass. There is no other way.
When I saw you controlling his every thought to-night, it seemed like a
sudden interposition of Providence. All the care and worry, that have
gripped me like a dragon those late weeks, seemed to slip from me. I
knew if you would do this, I was secure. I appeal to you, child. If you
love me, you _must_ consent to aid me in this. It is _your_ happiness,
_your_ advancement as well as my own, that I ask you to achieve--"
"I am satisfied. I don't want to advance."
Her eyes flash ominously.
"Helen--Helen--" Braine holds out his hands to her, "you don't
understand all you say. You _do_ want it. If you were deprived of all
this luxury and position, it would ruin your happiness--and yet, a few
years ago you said as you do now--'I don't want it.' Could you live
without it?"
"No. Not now. But I could if I had never known it--I--"
"You _had_ to know it. You _should_. Of all women in the world you are
the one best fitted for command, and for all that I am straining every
nerve to gain for you. I do not sleep an hour, uninterruptedly. I wake,
to plan and contrive after this end. I eat mechanically. I speak so,
except under circumstances when my words will count. I make no
acquaintance, no friend save that I may turn him to account. I deny
myself honest affection in every association, that sentiment may never
interfere at a critical hour--all this that I may see you where you
deserve to be. I ask but one little thing of you. I implore it. This one
effort on your part, and we have gained all. Helen--"
He is quivering with excitement. His eyes burn like coals of fire, and
grow dark and scintillating.
The woman opposite him stands like a statue. There is not a vestige of
color in her face. She turns slowly, and motions him from the room
without a word.