There is the most imperceptible pause before her next words. Braine
makes no remark. She continues;
"And I thought if you had any work to do in the way of writing, I might
as well do it."
She finishes, and turns back to the fire.
He replies: "If you are not going out, you might draft a reply to
Carson's letter. It must be carefully done. There must be enough in it
to satisfy him, but not enough to commit me. You understand about what I
want, I think."
"Yes. I think so," drily.
"So--I'm off, dear. Good-bye."
The door closes. The woman at the fire rises and looks slowly about the
room. The expression in her face is an ugly one. She rings her bell, and
mutters, "H'm!" as she unties her gown.
She is passive while Susanne dresses her. She does not leave the house
for an hour and a half yet. She finishes her toilet, and goes back to
the library to prepare the letter to Carson. It is a masterpiece when
finished, and she studies it with satisfaction.
She put on her wraps and waits a moment for the carriage, then drives
off to the "Cabinet affair."
She has her wits about her--she has a business affair here, too. She
remains until she knows she has accomplished all she can, and then sends
for her carriage.
She keeps up the farce until she finds herself in the night air, and
then is so silent that a man who has been violently in love with her for
two entire days, is heart-broken as he takes her to her carriage.
As she comes within range of the window, she sees the form of a man
inside the carriage, and instinctively knows who it is. She steps ahead,
and stands before the door as the groom opens it, filling it as
completely as she can, and saying an abrupt good night. She leans in
front of Everet as she pulls the rug over her, and they drive away.
She turns to him and looks at him inquisitively, and a little coldly.
She says, "How is this?"
Everet seizes her hand.
"I do not know. I waited for you in the carriage. That is all. I could
not help it. I _had_ to see you again to-night."
Her hand is still in his. Perhaps her fingers cling as well as his.
There is a deep frown between her eyes. She says with distress in her
voice:
"You should not. You should not. How could you? I--I--I--"
She pauses helplessly. It seems to Everet the helplessness of innocence.
He leans near her an instant; then, with an effort at self-control,
drops her hand.
She leans her head against the side of the carriage. She says under her
breath, "Oh, my God!"
He hears it, and thinks he has distressed her, shocked her, and begins
an apology, his voice emotion-choked. He feels that he has been a brute
to intrude on her in this way.
She does not answer. He can feel that her body is quivering as though
with cold. He attempts to draw the rug more closely about her, but she
winces and says with a wail:
"Don't, don't, don't!"
He desists, and sits watching her helplessly. She does not speak again
until they have reached home. When he touches her hand for a moment as
he helps her from the brougham, it is hot and feverish.
She says, as he turns to follow her up the steps:
"Don't come in to-night." She hesitates a moment, and then adds with a
rush,
"I _must_ be with my husband. To-morrow--I will see you to-morrow."
She hurries up the steps, and Woolet opens the door.
"Is Mr. Braine in yet?"
"In the library, madame."
She hurries through the hall, untying the cords of her wrap as she goes.
She pushes open the door, enters, closes the door, and stands with her
back against it, looking at Braine who is writing at the desk.
As she enters, he glances up hastily, nods, and returns to his writing,
remarking absently:
"Home?"
She does not answer. She stands watching him, listening to the hurried
scratch of the pen.
Presently she says:
"Edgar!"
"Yes?" without looking up.
She repeats in a loud, emphatic voice:
"_Edgar!_"
He raises his head in surprise. He looks at her.
"Well?--Are you ill, Helen?"
Her peculiar expression has arrested his attention, and he lays down his
pen. Her face is flushed. Her eyes are strangely brilliant. Her long,
nervous fingers twist in the cords of her wrap. She leaves her position
at the door, and advancing into the room, throws herself into a chair.
She replies in a hard voice:
"Ill? No, oh no!"
Braine looks at her inquiringly. She is looking straight into his face.
He says presently, with eagerness:
"Oh, you have something to tell me about Everet?"
"I have nothing to tell you about Everet," in the same inscrutable tone.
Braine looks annoyed, and says a little quickly:
"You want something of me?"
There is silence for a moment while they look into each other's faces.
Then she bursts out excitedly:
"_Yes_, I want something of you. I want you to take me in your arms. I
want you to forget that you are a United States Senator for an hour. I
want you to forget that any one lives but you and me. I want you to
say, 'Helen, I love you.' I want convincing demonstration that I am your
wife as well as your lobbyist."
There is a sting in every word. She is on her feet, flashing her emotion
at him with her beautiful eyes.
Braine half rises from his chair, and then sinks back. His face grows
tender. He says kindly:
"Come here, dear. I _do_ love you. I know I have been cold and
preoccupied lately, but you should understand that I love you, Helen,
better than my life. This is not like you, dear. You are tired and
nervous. All this business is new to you. I am proud of you, little one.
I have unlimited confidence in you. There--there," as she sobs violently
in his arms; "you are worn out, dear. You must not sit up. To-morrow we
will talk it all over. Kiss me good night, dear--"
She suddenly tightens her arms around him. She sobs:
"Not good night, Ed. Not good night. I _must_ not be put off so
to-night, dearest. I--I love you so."
She is kissing his hands and face excitedly, and is speaking in little
broken phrases. All her blood seems to have become a quivering flame.
Braine soothes her gently and says:
"You shall not be put off. I said good night, dear, out of consideration
for you. You look so exhausted, dear child. I must do a little more
work, and then I will stop. Go up and get off your tight, uncomfortable
gown. I will not be long."
He touches her forehead with his lips. She moves toward the door. She
says brokenly, through her smiles:
"It is good of you, Ed."
He smiles and replies:
"Good to _myself_."
She hurries through the hall and up the stairs. She is trembling with
happiness. She has not had so intimate a conversation with Braine for
three weeks. She pushes open her dressing-room door. Susanne has been
asleep, but rises quickly to assist her. She undresses Helen deftly:
"Is Madame going at once to bed?"
Helen shakes her head. Susanne brings her a negligee. Helen pushes it
away:
"No, the new one--the one sent home yesterday."
Susanne's eyes sparkle. She brings it at once. She remarks:
"Madame has enjoyed herself?"
Helen's face is wreathed in a constant, misty smile. She looks
inquiringly at Susanne and answers:
"Yes--no--you may go now. Good night."
For a moment after Susanne is gone, Helen stands thoughtfully before the
mirror. She looks at her reflection carefully. She says half aloud:
"How beautiful I am! I never was so glad to be beautiful, before. I feel
like a young girl again."
She studies the tall, lissome figure before her. The folds of her gown
cling to her limbs, emphasizing every sumptuous curve. She says in a
little tone of elation:
"How glad Edgar must be that you belong to him," nodding at herself.
She hears the library door open below, and goes to the door. She opens
it cautiously. There is in her manner, the delicious shyness of a young
girl with her first lover. She listens a moment, and hearing no step,
goes softly to the stairs. The hall door below is just closing.
Braine has gone out.