Until the muffled bells of the cathedral clock in the hall slowly and
sweetly chimed out the mid-night hour, Marjorie Benton had sat in front
of the fire in the library where Griggs had left her—waiting. She had
no idea when Howard would come in, but she expected Elinor almost any
minute, as she had only gone to the Thurstons for dinner and could not
remain away much longer.
To Marjorie, whose every nerve was keyed to a snapping tension, the
evening had seemed endless. Her eyes were riveted upon the hands of the
clock. At twelve-thirty, she bounded from her seat, and fairly flew to
the telephone, unable to curb her patience a second longer.
Central was obliged to ring a number of times before the Thurston number
answered.
“What seems to be the trouble?” Marjorie demanded irritably. “That
number should answer at once.”
“I am ringing them, Madam,” Central replied mechanically.
“Such service. You never can get a number when you want one,” Marjorie
muttered irritably as she shook the hook.
“They do not answer,” the operator drawled.
“But I tell you they do answer! They must answer,” Marjorie insisted.
“Why, they’re having——”
“There’s your party,” Central interrupted. “Go ahead.”
“Oh—hello—I’d like to speak to Miss Benton, please.”
“There’s no one here by that name,” came the answer curtly. “You must
have the wrong number.”
“Is this Mrs. Horace Thurston’s residence?”
“Yes, Madame—but there isn’t anyone here by the name of Benton. If it’s
Hugh Benton’s home you wish, I can give you the number. It——”
“No—this is the number I wish. Kindly call Mrs. Thurston to the
’phone.”
“Mrs. and Mr. Thurston are both in Atlantic City—until to-morrow.”
Marjorie felt the ground giving way beneath her feet. She clutched at
the desk for support as she inquired:
“Where is Miss Thurston?”
“In bed, Madame. At least, I suppose she is. She returned home about
twelve o’clock and went straight to her room. Do you wish me to call
her?”
“No—no—it will not be necessary. I—I made a mistake—that is all.
Somehow I was under the impression that Miss Thurston was entertaining
at dinner this evening, but I realize now that it was—someone else.”
“Yes, Madame. That must be it,” the butler agreed. “Because Miss
Thurston went out to dinner and the theater with a gentleman this
evening.”
“Thank you—I—I’m sorry to have disturbed you at this hour.”
“That’s all right, Madame. Do you care to leave your name for Mrs.
Thurston?”
“Oh, no—I—I’ll call Mrs. Thurston myself—to-morrow. Good-night,” she
faltered as she hung up the receiver and stood as one petrified, staring
into space.
What new horror was about to confront her? Elinor had deliberately
deceived her, and perhaps this had not been the first time. Where could
she have gone? What did it all mean?
Again she began to pace the floor. Her own trouble was almost blotted
from her mind as this new fear clutched at her heart. Where was Elinor?
Where was she? Over and over again she asked herself the question as she
traveled back and forth between the window and the farthest book-lined
wall.
Twice the faithful Griggs attempted to speak to her, but she waved him
back frantically, refusing to listen. As long as she lived, this night
would leave its mark upon her. She had passed hours of unspeakable
suffering and torture.
At four o’clock, with the faint coming of dawn, Griggs placed another
log on the fire which he had kept burning all night, and then confronted
Marjorie determinedly with the assurance of an old and trusted servant.
“Mrs. Benton, won’t you please go to bed! It’s four o’clock, and you
must be worn out! Pardon the liberty of an old servant, but——”
“Four o’clock—four o’clock—” Marjorie kept wringing her hands
despairingly, “and not one of them home yet! God! What can have
happened!”
“Nothing has happened, ma’am! Miss Elinor and Mr. Howard are most likely
with Mr. Benton at some party or dance,” Griggs endeavored to console
her.
“Four o’clock,” she kept repeating. “Why, they couldn’t remain anywhere
as late as that.”
“Indeed, they’ve come in late many times, Mrs. Benton; only you have
been asleep in your own room and didn’t know it.”
“As late as this?”
“Well—no—not quite as late—but I’m sure there’s no reason for you to
worry. Come to your room—please—and let me bring you some coffee.”
“Thanks, Griggs,” Marjorie replied gratefully. “You’re very kind, and I
appreciate your remaining up with me like this more than I can tell you,
but I couldn’t leave here—I must wait.”
“Mrs. Benton, I’ll call you the minute anyone comes. It won’t do any
good for you to wear yourself——”
The sound of a machine coming up the driveway cut short further
arguments. Griggs rushed to the window.
“Here’s a cab now, Ma’am,” he said, hastening to open the door.
“At last! At last!” Marjorie held her hand over her heart. “Thank
God—they’ve come!”
She stood with bated breath, facing the door, expecting she knew
not—what. But whatever else it might have been that unfolded itself
before Marjorie Benton’s hot worried eyes, it could not have stabbed her
as what she did see. An icy hand clutched her heart. The room swam about
her. She tried to move forward with a cry, but stood rooted to the spot.
For there, standing on the threshold was her own daughter, her baby,
Elinor—hair hanging in wild disarray, white-faced, trembling, clothing
disarranged, while moans and sobs issued from her distorted pale lips.
Holding her up, guiding her tottering footsteps, her arms possessively,
protectingly around Marjorie Benton’s daughter was the one woman in the
world whom she hated with a deadly hatred, the woman who had taken from
her the love of her own husband—Geraldine DeLacy.
The mother’s breath came with a quick intake as her arms went
quiveringly out toward the girl.
“Elinor!” the cry came in a pitiful wail.
“Oh, mother! Mother!” Elinor sobbed brokenly, as she wrenched herself
from Geraldine’s arms and tottered toward her mother. Marjorie caught
her as she fell. She held her closely as she had held her as a baby.
“What is it, dear?” she murmured tenderly. Mother instinct told her it
was no time for reproaches, but a time for soothing. “What has happened?
Try to control yourself and tell me.”
“Oh—I—I can’t! I can’t!” Elinor moaned. “It’s so terrible!”
Trembling from head to foot Marjorie, holding Elinor closely to her,
turned to Geraldine. “Perhaps, Mrs. DeLacy, you will kindly tell
me—what this all means?” she asked.
“I’m very sorry, Mrs. Benton,” Geraldine replied gravely, “but a
terrible thing has happened. I—I scarcely know how to tell you.”
Marjorie’s eyes flashed fire. “Nothing can be more terrible than this
dreadful suspense! You must tell me at once!” she commanded.
“Very well, but I want you to believe me, Mrs. Benton, when I tell you
that it grieves me greatly to be the bearer of this news.” Geraldine’s
attempt at friendly conciliation passed by the distracted mother.
“Go on—please!” she ordered, with set lips.
“This evening,” Geraldine began, “Templeton Druid had a dinner party in
his rooms after the show——”
“Who is Templeton Druid?” Marjorie interrupted.
“Templeton Druid was,” she laid stress upon the word, a stress unnoticed
by Marjorie, although Elinor shivered in her mother’s clasp, “an
actor—the most popular leading man on Broadway, and a friend of
Elinor’s and Howard’s. Elinor knew you would never consent to her going
to the party, so she told you she was going to the Thurstons’.”
“I—I know,” Marjorie murmured. “I telephoned the Thurstons at
twelve-thirty.” She closed her eyes as if to shut out the memory of the
shock she had received.
“She spent the early part of the evening,” Geraldine continued, “with
Rosebud Greeley, and then went to Mr. Druid’s apartment.”
“Oh, my dear! My dear!” Marjorie wailed. “Go on, please, Mrs. DeLacy.”
“Howard happened to know where Elinor was going, and disapproved of it.
He had spent the evening with Nell Thurston, and after seeing her home,
went downtown to the club, where he imbibed rather freely with some of
the boys. He happened to overhear a conversation concerning Elinor and
Druid, which enraged him past endurance. He jumped in a taxi and went
directly to Druid’s apartment——”
“Oh—mother—mother—” Elinor clutched her wildly. “I can’t bear it.
Why—why——”
“Hush, darling,” Marjorie patted her head, “I must hear the rest.”
“When Howard arrived,” went on Mrs. DeLacy as though repeating a
carefully rehearsed lesson, “a wild party was on, which only went toward
confirming the things he had heard. A furious scene followed—and a—a
fist battle. In the midst of which Druid pulled a revolver out of his
pocket—Howard managed to secure it. There was a shot and Druid fell to
the floor!” Geraldine dramatically turned her eyes as she reached her
climax as though too tender-hearted to witness the mother’s despair. But
underneath the lids that veiled her eyes, there was gloating.
“Oh—No! No!” Marjorie felt the iron hand closing tighter around her
heart. It was crushing it. “He didn’t—_kill—him_?”
“Instantly!”
The monosyllabic reply was like the closing of life’s chapter to the
mother who heard it. The world seemed far away. She could not
think—could not breathe to recognize the familiar action. That iron
hand was closing and unclosing, squeezing from her heart but icy drops.
Vaguely she could feel her arms about her daughter while her mind
wandered to the son—could feel Elinor clutching her hands, her
arms,—could hear her wailing.
“Oh, mother! Mother! I loved him so! I loved him! Oh, what shall I do!”
The iron hand held a dagger. It was draining her life blood. She felt it
leaving her face, her limbs. She felt the gray pallor of her cheeks.
Limply she sank down into the deep chair beside her (and even in her
despair there came a queer flash of memory over her that it was Hugh’s
chair) as she stared at the bearer of the news. Her comprehension was
unable to cope with its suddenness.
Elinor, clinging helplessly to her mother, fell on her knees, burying
her head in her lap.
“I—I can’t realize it!” Marjorie felt her lips framing the words, but
to her own ears they were inaudible. “It is all—so horrible.”
“I know, Mrs. Benton.” Outwardly, Geraldine was all sympathy. “But you
must face this thing as bravely as you can, for Mr. Benton’s sake——”
Marjorie bit her lips so hard she drew the blood in two places.
“Where—where is Howard now?” she demanded.
“They ’phoned the club and managed to locate Mr. Benton. He called his
attorney. There are certain arrangements to be made and then he will
bring Howard home.”
In her dazed consciousness it had already occurred to Marjorie to wonder
where Hugh was, and she had had an added pang when she had realized what
all this would mean to him. She would so have tried to spare him.
So he already knew! And he had not even let her know, come to her, or
sent to her in his trouble. No—instead it had been this—this other
woman he had— Bitterness welled to take the place of pity. And that
bitterness swelled her heart till she felt it had reached the bursting
point.
To think that her husband had dared to select that woman to bring Elinor
home! She should have been sent for! Wasn’t she still his wife, and
Elinor’s mother? Had Hugh thrown her into the dust and trampled upon
her, he could not have humiliated her more than by sending this, to her,
abominable creature as the conveyer of this appalling news. The
strangeness of it all began to dawn upon her. How had Mrs. DeLacy been
available at such an hour? Was Hugh in her company at the time? Her lips
curled slightly as she asked: “Were you at that party, Mrs. DeLacy?”
Geraldine drew herself haughtily erect. “I? Certainly not!” she cried
indignantly. “Why do you ask?”
“Because I fail to understand your connection in the affair,” replied
the wife coldly. “What are you doing here? How do you come to bring
Elinor home?”
“Mr. Benton telephoned to me,” Geraldine flushed angrily as she faced
Marjorie Benton’s cold, accusing eyes. “He knew that he could place
every confidence in me—and asked me as a special favor to him, to bring
Elinor home——”
“I _understand_.” Marjorie spoke simply, but with finality. “Thank
you—and good-night.”
“I should like to remain if you don’t mind,” Geraldine strolled
impertinently toward the davenport, adding, “until Mr. Benton and Howard
come.”
“Don’t you think it indelicate for you to attempt to intrude, Mrs.
DeLacy? This is a time when the family desire to be alone.”
“I realize that,” Geraldine smiled serenely. “But don’t you see, when
one is such a trusted friend, I really feel as if I were one of the
family.”
Marjorie Benton had felt before that she had stood all that could be
imposed on human nature. But now she found that it had been only a
beginning. The cold, unadulterated nerve of the woman who assumed such
prerogatives so casually, and at such a time, was beyond anything she
could have dreamed. No longer was she physically weak. A great power was
given to her. Gently she put aside her daughter’s clinging hands and
rose to her feet with a firmness born of indignation too great for
words.
“Your assumption is a bit previous,” she remarked icily. “You have
wrought destruction enough in this home for the present. I am sorry, but
I must deny you the pleasure of remaining longer.”
“Oh, very well!” Geraldine shrugged her shoulders meaningly, as she
turned toward the door. “I regret exceedingly that you will not accept
my well-meant offer of friendship. If you should need me any time,
Elinor,” she called back, “you know where to find me—good-night.”
Marjorie stood still as a statue, waiting until she heard the door close
after Mrs. DeLacy. Then she resumed her chair, pulled a low stool up
beside her and tenderly seated Elinor upon it.
“Darling little girl,” she murmured soothingly, gently caressing the
disordered hair which futile hands sought to arrange. “Come, tell mother
everything. I—I’m not angry, dear—my heart is over-flowing with love
and sympathy for you, and I want to help you!”
One upward glance the girl gave her mother. She shook her head sadly.
“Your love and your desire to help me, mother, have come too late.”
Marjorie caught her breath sharply.
“Oh, please! Please, dear, don’t say that!”
“You’ve kept me away from you so long,” Elinor continued apathetically,
plaintively. “I have never been able to confide in you. The wonderful
comradeship I’ve seen between other girls and their mothers—never
existed between us. Your continual fault finding with everything I did
forced me to be untruthful, and to deceive you.”
“I meant it all for your good, dear!” Marjorie’s voice vibrated with
emotion. “You _will_ believe me—you must!—when I tell you my only
desire was for your happiness!”
“And _Howard_!” Elinor’s voice was bitter in its hysterical
condemnation. “What right had he to judge anyone? Templeton would have
married me, and now—my life is wrecked.”
“You are not in the condition to realize anything now. Perhaps later you
will be able to view all this in a different light. Your brother must
love you very——”
“Love me!” Elinor screamed wildly. “He has a great way of showing it,
when he robs me of all the happiness life held for me! Oh—I hate him!
Even if he is my brother, I——”
“Oh—hush, dear, hush,” Marjorie placed her hand across Elinor’s mouth,
“you mustn’t talk that way.”
“I—I don’t know what I’m going to do, mother! I’m almost crazy! I’m so
frightened, and I don’t know where to turn!” The girl’s passion subsided
into a wail of self-pity. She sobbed and buried her head in Marjorie’s
lap again.
A light of dawning hope slowly welled up in the woman’s anguished eyes.
“Turn to your mother, darling,” she pleaded, lovingly, tenderly, “the
one who will never fail you! Come—I’m going to take you upstairs and
put you to bed, just as I did when you were my little baby—and I shall
sit beside you and hold your hand, dear, until you fall asleep.”
Elinor arose wearily and stood coldly unresponsive to her mother’s
declarations of love and devotion. She submitted passively to the tender
embrace as she was led toward the hall.
The slamming of the front door caused them both to start violently.
Howard, wanly pale and trembling, came toward them. Marjorie’s arms went
out to him.
“Oh—Howard—my boy, I—I——”
“Please, mother!” Howard twisted his fingers and pulled at his collar.
“Don’t you start in on me—I’m a wreck, and my nerves are all shot to
pieces now! Dad hasn’t stopped talking for a moment all the way home—I
just _can’t_ stand much more!” He walked unsteadily to the mantle and
stood, leaning his head upon it.
Elinor dropped back to the large chair her mother had recently occupied,
and curled up in it, her feet under her, her head buried in her arms.
In a few quick steps, the mother crossed the room to her son’s side. Her
arm went protectingly about his bowed, weary shoulders.
“Oh, my dear, my dear!” and there was a world of sympathy and love in
the vibrating voice, “I’m not going to upbraid you! I just want to tell
you that——”
A slight sound at the door made her turn to glance over her shoulder.
Hugh Benton stood there, stern and relentless. His eyes roved from the
stricken girl huddled in her chair to rest on the bowed head of his son
and the mother who stood beside him, her attitude one of soothing.
Like a cold accusing judge he stood towering there. Slowly his hand came
up into a sweeping gesture to include the scene. Then the hand was
pointed relentlessly, unforgivingly, at the suffering mother. When he
spoke his voice was harsh, repelling.
“Well, Marjorie!” he bit off his words, “I trust you’re satisfied!”