Betty slept fitfully, her dreams haunted by Miss Trumbull's expression
of outraged virtue surrounded by curl-papers. She rose at four, almost
mechanically, rather glad than otherwise that she had some one with
whom to talk over the events of the night. But although she admired
Senator North the more for his distinguished contrast to Jack Emory,
she felt as if all romance and love had gone out of her. Harriet's case
was romantic enough in all conscience, and it was hideous.
She met Miss Trumbull in the lower hall. Outraged virtue had given way
to an expression of self-satisfied importance. "Well, I'm real glad
they're married," she drawled. "It warn't in human nature not to
listen, and I did--I ain't goin' to deny it, but I couldn't have slept
a wink if I hadn't. Ain't you glad I told you?"
"I certainly am not glad that you told me, and I wish I had dismissed
you three weeks ago. When I return I shall give you a month's wages and
you can go to-day."
She hurried down to the lake and unmoored her boat. Her conscience was
abnormally active this morning, and she reflected that she too was
going to a tryst of which the world must know nothing. True, it was
kept on the open lake and was as full of daylight as it was of
impeccability, but it was not for the world to discover, for all that.
She made no attempt to smile as Senator North stepped into the boat,
and he took the oars without a word and pulled rapidly up the lake.
When they were beyond all signs of human habitation, he brought the
boat under the spreading limbs of an oak and crossed his oars.
"Now," he said, "what is it? Something very serious indeed has
happened."
"Jack Emory and Harriet have been married three months." She filled in
the statement listlessly and added no comment.
"And your conscience is oppressed and miserable because you feel as if
you were the author of the catastrophe," he replied. "What have you
made up your mind to do?" It was evident that her attitude alone
interested him, but he understood her mood perfectly. His voice was
friendly and matter-of-fact; there was not a hint of the sympathizing
lover about him.
"It seems to me that as I did not act at the right time I only should
make things worse by interfering now. As she said, it is a matter
between her and him."
"You are quite right. Any other course would be futile and cruel. And
remember that you have acted wisely and well from the beginning. You
have nothing to reproach yourself for. You brought the girl to your
house for a period, because justice and humanity demanded it. The same
principles demanded that you should keep her secret--for the matter of
that your mother made secrecy one of the conditions of her consent. I
had hoped that you would get rid of her before she obeyed the baser
instincts of her nature. For she was bound to deceive some man, and her
victim is your cousin by chance only. Have you noticed in
Washington--or anywhere in the South--that a negro is always seen with
a girl at least one shade whiter than himself? The same instinct to
rise, to get closer to the standard of the white man, whom they
slavishly admire, is in the women as well as in the men. They are the
weaker sex and must submit to Circumstance, but they would sacrifice
the whole race for marriage with a white man. If you had left this girl
to her fate, she would have gone to the devil, for a woman as white as
that would have starved rather than marry a negro. If you had given her
money and told her to go her way, she would have established herself at
once in some first-class hotel where she would be sure to meet men of
the upper class. And she would have married the first that asked her
and told him nothing. I am sorry that your cousin happens to be the
victim, because he is your cousin. But if you will reflect a moment you
will see that he is no better, no more honourable or worthy than many
other men, one of whom was bound to be victimized. I don't think she
would have been attracted to a fool or a cad; I am positive she would
have married a gentleman. These women have a morbid craving for the
caste they are so close upon belonging to."
"I hate men," said Betty, viciously.
"I am sure you do, and I shall not waste time on their defence. I am
concerned only in setting you right with yourself."
"I always feel that what you say is true--must be true. I suppose it
will take possession of my mind and I shall feel better after a while."
"You will feel better after several hours' sleep. I am going to take
you home now. Go to bed and sleep until noon."
"My conscience hurts me. I have spoiled your visit."
"I can live on the memory of yesterday for some time, and I shall
return in a fortnight."
"Well, I am glad you were here when it happened. I don't know what I
should have done if I couldn't have talked to you about it. I feel a
little better--but cross and disagreeable, all the same."
"You are a woman of contrasts," he said, smiling. "A machine is not my
ideal."
He rowed her back to the point where he had boarded the boat, and shook
her warmly by the hand.
"Good-bye," he said. "Be sensible and take the only practical view of
it. If you care to write to me about anything, I need not say that I
shall answer at once." When she reached home, she took his advice and
went to bed; and whether or not her mind obeyed his in small matters as
in great, she slept soundly for five hours. When she awoke, she felt
young and buoyant and untarnished again. She went at once to her
mother's room and told the story. Mrs. Madison listened with horror and
consternation.
"It cannot be!" she exclaimed. "It cannot be! Jack Emory? It never
could have been permitted. The very Fates would interfere. His father
will rise from his grave. Why, it's monstrous. The woman ought to be
hanged. And I thought her buried in her books! I never heard of such
deceit."
"It was the instinct of self-defence, I suppose."
"He too! It never occurred to me to watch him or to warn him; for that
such a thing could ever threaten a member of my family never entered my
head. What on earth is to be done?"
It took Betty an hour to persuade her mother that Jack must be left to
find out the truth for himself; that they had no right, after placing
Harriet in the way of temptation, to make her more wretched than she
was when they had rescued her. But she succeeded, as she always did;
and Mrs. Madison said finally, with her long sigh of surrender,--
"Well, perhaps he is paying for some of the sins of his fathers. But I
wish he did not happen to be a member of our family. As the thing is
done, I suppose I may as well be philosophical about it. It is so much
easier to be philosophical now that I have let go my hold on most of
the responsibilities of life. As long as nothing happens to you, I can
accept everything else with equanimity. What story of her birth and
family do you suppose she told him? He must have asked her a good many
questions."
"Heaven knows. She is capable of concocting anything; and you must
remember that we had accepted her as a cousin. She could put him off
easily, for he had no suspicion to start with. I must now go and have a
final delightful interview with Miss Trumbull."
She met her in the hall, and experienced a sudden sense of helplessness
in the face of that mighty curiosity. She almost respected it.
"I just want to say," drawled Miss Trumbull, tossing her head, "that I
know more'n you think I do. There just ain't nothin' I don't know, I'll
tell you, as you've turned me out as if I was a common servant. I know
who you meet up the lake and take breakfast in farmhouses with, and I
know why Miss Harriet was so dreadful scared you'd find out--"
Betty understood then why some people murdered others. Her eyes blazed
so that the woman quailed.
"Oh, I ain't so bad as you think," she stammered. "I'd never think any
harm of you, and I'd never be so despisable as to take away any woman's
character. I'm a Christian and I don't want to hurt any one, likewise,
I'd never tell him _that_. Bad as she's treated me--I who am as good
and better'n she is any day--I wouldn't do any woman sech a bad turn as
that. Only I'm just glad I do know it. When I'm settin' in my poor
little parlor waitin' for another position to turn up--six months,
mebbe--it'll be a big satisfaction to me to think that I could ruin her
if I had a mind to--a big satisfaction."
Betty went to her room, wrote a cheque for three months' wages and
returned with it. "Take this and go," she said. "And be kind enough not
to look upon the amount as a bribe. The position of housekeeper is not
an easy one to find, and I do not wish to think of any one in distress."