In the breaking up of the Benton home, there were no distressing
leave-takings. The father was the first to go. Indeed, it cannot be said
that he ever made The Castle his home again after the night he spent
there preceding the inquest into the death of Templeton Druid and his
son’s consequent indictment on the charge of manslaughter.
How much of this was due to Geraldine DeLacy’s influence it would be
hard to say. The man himself would have denied that she in any way held
sway over his movements, but the subtle suggestions she was able to
throw out, always with words of love and with the persuasiveness of her
own logic that Hugh must do things for his own sake, were balm to the
man whose selfishness had grown so great that he was unable to see that
there was anything paramount to his own desires.
So on the day following the tragic dénouement in the inquest room, Hugh
Benton installed himself in a suite of rooms in one of the city’s most
fashionable hotels. Elinor was enthusiastic when she learned where he
had gone. It had always been her desire to live in just such a fashion,
and she gleefully welcomed the opportunity of freedom it would give her.
She knew that her father’s chaperonage would at no time be irksome.
“How wonderful, Daddy!” she exclaimed as she flew from one wide window
of his sitting room to another to look out over the towering roofs of
the humming city. “When may I come? And where are you going to put me?”
When her father took her into the adjoining suite he had reserved for
her and led her into the blue silk-lined boudoir which was its crowning
glory, her happiness knew no bounds. She forgot the tragedy that hung
over her brother and mother, forgot everything save that she was to be a
woman of the world, and live her life to please herself in such
surroundings. Her father looked on with pleased eyes as he saw her
rapture.
“It’s ready for you, baby, whenever you like, but do you think you
should leave—just yet?” He was a little dubious about the proprieties.
The lessons of years are not unlearned in hours.
Elinor pouted.
“What’s the use of staying with those others any longer?” she asked.
“Why, Daddy, you have no idea how disagreeable it all is—how they look
at me (if they do at all), as though I were the criminal, instead
of——”
Hugh Benton turned on his heel. It grated to hear his son referred to as
a criminal, even from his own daughter.
Shut up in her own rooms, the rooms where she had planned so many hours
of happiness when son and daughter should be home, Marjorie Benton tried
to shut her ears to the bustle of preparations for departure. But each
thump of a trunk as she heard it carried from her daughter’s room made
an added bruise on her lacerated heart—gave her a sense of loss that
even all of Howard’s loving protection (he was the only one who came to
break her solitude) could not entirely heal. Her baby was going away
from her! It was her baby who had chosen to do this thing!
On the day that the girl’s father came for her to take her to her new
hotel home, she met him outside the door. She flew into his arms with
eagerness. But, with one foot on the running board of his car, her eyes
turned backward for a moment. She looked up at Hugh for guidance.
“Do you think—do you think, Daddy,” she faltered, confused, “that I
ought to say good-by?”
Hugh Benton’s thoughts were not on the daughter he was taking from home
and mother. He had no time to discuss matters, nor to wait while Elinor
made up her mind. He was to meet Geraldine DeLacy at their favorite
little café for lunch in an hour (their regular daily meeting) and he
was eager not to be late. He shrugged indifferently, as he held open the
door of the limousine.
“Suit yourself, my dear,” he said, “but I can’t see——”
“Nor I!” Elinor leaped lightly into the machine. “What’s the use of
good-bys? I’ve had enough of scenes—forever.”
And she turned her face resolutely toward the new life.
Geraldine DeLacy was kept waiting for a short time, but when she saw
Hugh Benton’s tall familiar figure coming toward her, her mood of
pettishness passed as though a hand had wiped out the lines from her
face, and it was a smiling eager countenance with which she greeted him
as he bent over her hand a moment before taking the chair opposite her
in their favorite little corner in the downtown café. Geraldine DeLacy
was a careful player. She knew there was yet much to lose by a false
move, and she prided herself that never yet had anyone called to her,
“Checkmate!” There was the Benton money, for instance. Something must be
devised—It would never do to have Marjorie Benton come out victor
there, and she knew quite well through her familiarity with the divorce
proceedings that were already under way in less than two weeks after
Hugh had gained Marjorie’s permission to start them, that Hugh intended
to live up to the letter of his promise to his wife, given that night he
had forced her hand.
So it was with no suggestion either of her discontent in this matter,
nor of the bad temper that had spent itself over having been kept
waiting that the young widow spoke softly to the man who apologized.
“Of course, it was long waiting, Hugh, dear,” she pouted prettily. “But
it’s always an age if I have to wait for you a moment! And to think
before I knew you I never thought I could miss anyone in the world!”
“I knew you would understand, little one,” he smiled tenderly, “you
always do! But I was kept unconscionably late to-day for several
reasons. First, Elinor—I told you I had installed her at the Alliston
with me, did I not?” Geraldine nodded, but as she bent over her plate of
oysters picking at them with the tiny fork, Hugh Benton could not see
the annoyance in the dropped eyes. “Then,” he went on, “just as I was
ready to leave the office, one of those new lawyers of mine dropped in.
I’ll say I’m going to have trouble making them understand that they must
make appointments like other people,—Hammond always understood such
things so well—and they had a lot of questions to ask about that
settlement of mine——”
Mrs. DeLacy showed signs of quickening interest, but her eyes were still
upon her plate as she thought best how to inject some of her own ideas
into the man’s reasoning.
“It’s all so maddening,” Hugh went on, “to be tied up in this manner
over money! Here all I want in the world is you,—and you want me, I’m
sure, little one,” Geraldine lifted her eyes to flash him a dazzling
smile of happiness and understanding, “and they keep us——”
Geraldine DeLacy laid down her fork and leaned across the table toward
her companion, gazing at him thoughtfully and consideringly, as though
there were something vital she wished to say, but wanted to be sure of
her ground. Hugh smiled tenderly.
“What’s on your mind, dear?” he laughed. “Come on—we’re not going to
let you be serious as that without an explanation.”
“I was just thinking——”
“With any other woman, I’d say, ‘Be careful!’” he assured her, with a
benignant grin. Hugh Benton still believed in the vast superiority of
the masculine. But Geraldine did not answer his smile. It must be
something serious she was considering.
“If I were to be very frank with you, Hugh,” she began hesitatingly, and
her eyes held only a look of adoration, and something that seemed to
tell his vanity that she feared to displease him by anything she might
say, “would you consider me presuming or guilty of an unpardonable
interference in your affairs?”
“My dear, how little you know me! You know I am always glad to listen to
anything you may have to say.”
“Well, then,” she was most cautious, still hesitating, “does Marjorie
know exactly how much you are worth? Have you always taken her into your
confidence regarding your financial standing? Please do not think my
asking these questions strange—you will soon see, dear, that I have
only your interest at heart.”
“Why, no,” he answered, but puzzled at this new interest of the woman
who had always so carefully refrained from the mention of money,
“Marjorie doesn’t know anything about my affairs.”
The semi-lighting effects of the café and her large, drooping hat,
prevented him from seeing the triumphant gleam in the woman’s eyes.
“When we first came to New York,” he explained, “we used to discuss all
the transactions of the office, but that was only for a very short time.
For years she has not shown the slightest interest in me or my doings. I
have paid all the bills and given her a liberal allowance, nearly all of
which she invested in charity.”
“How about Mr. Hammond? Does he happen to know just what you are worth?”
“My dear, I see that you know very little about business,” he replied
laughingly, “or else you would understand that when one speculates as I
do, no one knows—not even myself—just what I am worth.”
“You’re right—I know nothing whatever about business,” she pouted
childishly. “I’m only trying, in my poor little way, to prevent you from
doing yourself a great injustice.”
“An injustice?”
“Yes! Oh my dear! You’re so wonderful—so generous—that you never even
stop to consider yourself for a moment! No, you mustn’t interrupt me,”
as she leaned across the table, and gave him a gentle pat on the hand.
“You’ve been an ideal husband and father all these years. It isn’t your
fault if you have been misunderstood by your wife, and unappreciated by
your son. Then why should you, at your time of life, beggar yourself so
that your money may be recklessly squandered by an irresponsible boy?”
“But I’m not making a settlement upon Howard. It’s Marjorie I’m——”
“Hugh! You’re as gullible as a child!” she smiled. “Don’t you know she
will give every dollar she possesses to Howard, especially after you
disinherited him because he sided with her.”
“I never thought of that,” he acknowledged comprehendingly. “You’re
absolutely right. It is precisely what she would do.”
“Just how much did you promise to—give her?” she asked eagerly.
“I told her I would give her three-quarters of my possessions if she
would consent to grant me my freedom.”
“You—you—” She dug her finger-nails deep into her palm. Rage flamed
inwardly in spite of her efforts at self-control and her soft-spoken
words—“liberal, big-hearted darling! That is just what I would have
expected you to do—without once giving yourself a thought!”
“I would have given anything to be free—for you, darling—and I could
afford to be generous. I feel more capable than ever of making many a
fortune,” he replied, with great confidence.
“I haven’t the least doubt of your capabilities, dear. Only you happened
to remark but an hour ago that this was one of the most precarious years
frenzied finance has ever known. Therefore, I think,” she pleaded
wistfully, “you should exercise your better judgment.”
“What is it you would advise me doing? Have you a suggestion to offer?”
“Y-e-es, I think so,” she hesitated, as though not sure of herself. “Of
course, I know very little about business, as you know, but to me it
seems a good one.” She leaned forward animatedly. “As long as Marjorie
is entirely ignorant of just how much you are actually worth, why don’t
you give her a great deal less, and allow her to think, she is
getting—exactly what you promised her?”
“Why—why—” he stammered, “wouldn’t that be dishonest?”
“Not at all!” she replied emphatically. “Merely diplomatic.”
“Somehow, it doesn’t seem fair—my conscience,—why dear, what is the
trouble?” he inquired anxiously, as Geraldine without warning placed her
handkerchief to her eyes and began weeping silently.
“You—you don’t know how you hurt me, Hugh! Why—why—you as much as
imply that I was suggesting to you an act of dishonesty, when the only
thing that entered my mind was your welfare. As far as I am concerned, I
told you once before, dear—that I’d marry you if you were a pauper.”
“Forgive me, dearest, and dry your eyes, I implore you. How can you
imagine, for a moment, that I would intentionally offend you?”
“I’m such a baby,” she replied, drying her eyes obediently, “and my
great love for you would carry me beyond all sense of reasoning. Of
course, if you think there is anything wrong about my suggestion, why
then——”
“I’m not trying to say there is anything wrong about it—only—I have
always been open and above board in all my dealings,—” he toyed
nervously with his own fork,—“I should feel rather uncomfortable about
doing anything underhanded.”
But the plotter could see her victim was weakening. She hastened to make
the most of it.
“Why, my dear, you couldn’t even harbor a dishonest thought! I can’t
help wondering just a little how you, who are always so very considerate
of others, have apparently forgotten all about Elinor.”
“Elinor? What has she to do with it?”
“A great deal, I think,” she replied. “You know, Elinor volunteered of
her own free will to remain with you, therefore it does not seem fair to
give so much to Marjorie and Howard, while Elinor will be compelled to
depend solely upon your further success for her share. It is true that
you have always been most fortunate—but my dear, we can never tell just
when the tide may turn.”
“And what about you?” He looked at her admiringly. “You wonderful woman!
All of your pleadings have been for me and for Elinor—never once have
you mentioned yourself as deserving of a little consideration!”
“There isn’t a thing in the world that I need or want outside of your
love,” she answered sweetly.
“That you shall always have,” he said fervently as he reached across the
table and his big white hand crushed her small one tenderly. “And a
great many things besides. You have made me view matters in an entirely
different light. I shall act accordingly.”
So it was that when a few days later his lawyer handed Marjorie his
check after the signing of the necessary documents, the divorced wife
found it difficult to suppress her genuine surprise.
“Is there anything wrong, Mrs. Benton?” the lawyer inquired, noticing
her peculiar expression.
“Well—I—I am a little surprised—at the amount!” She glanced at the
paper in her hand again. “I have always been under the impression that
Mr. Benton was a very wealthy man.”
“There was never a certain sum stipulated, was there?”
“Why, no—Mr. Benton agreed to give me three-quarters of all he
possessed, but if _this_ amount is in accordance with that promise—then
he is worth a great deal less than I ever imagined.”
“You know that Mr. Benton speculates in vast sums daily; his fortune is
bound to fluctuate. Would you care to send a message to him?” he asked,
as he reached for his hat.
“No, thank you. This is perfectly—satisfactory,” she replied.
But with the memory of that check in mind, and of the need of vast sums
for the defense of her son in mind, Marjorie Benton, in making her own
departure from The Castle, did not follow her husband’s example and
install herself and her son in a fashionable, expensive hotel. Instead,
she chose a much smaller one further uptown—a hostelry where
exclusiveness superseded the pomp of the hotel home which housed her
former husband and her daughter.
Marjorie could see that Howard was somewhat questioning at the move she
made, though he said nothing. She was in a quandary. She would have
liked to explain to Howard that she was not being penurious, not
following the conservative bent which had so long been the cause of so
much trouble in the Benton family, but she could not. She could not
explain to him. He had lost all respect for his father as it was, and
she felt she could not be the one to plant the seed of hatred in his
heart.
Howard, on the other hand, had been deeply hurt when his mother had
neglected to mention to him just what was the sum of the settlement upon
her. The confidence she failed to place in him gave him the impression
of not being trusted. But his pride would not permit him to question
her; he feared she might misconstrue his motive, and consider his
interest a selfish one.
Through all her travail Marjorie Benton had had one other consolation
save her son. John Hammond had proven himself the friend he had offered
to be on the morning he had told her he was no longer her husband’s, but
her own and her son’s representative. Each day during the progress of
the suit, he had called her up or seen her, and his gentle courtesy had
done much to lighten her burden. Now he was busy with Howard’s affairs,
and because of the lawyer’s deep interest and enthusiasm, the mother had
laid aside much of her worry for Howard, believing that it was an
assured thing that John Hammond would acquit him.
In a way, she was beginning to be more cheerful, to look at the future
as not all dark, in spite of the fact that her resources were far from
what she had believed they would be. However, she argued, if she and
Howard lived as carefully as possible, they need never want until her
son should himself be in a position to add to their income,—a prospect
that was a surety with Marjorie since Howard had been speaking so
earnestly about it. He had only to place himself—to find himself—and
surely she and the boy themselves had enough influential friends to see
that he got a start.
Hammond had called her up one morning to assure her that her son’s
affairs were progressing rapidly, and to say that the case had been
given a place on the calendar which would be reached in a week or two.
She was so glad that it would soon be over.
All during her luncheon, which she ate alone—Howard had telephoned he
would be detained in the city—she thought of the approaching trial, and
her heart warmed as she pictured the great lawyer defending her son.
What a man he was! What a friend he had proven! And, what was as much to
Marjorie Benton in her straitened circumstances, how much it meant to
both Howard and herself that John Hammond persisted in his purpose to
handle the matter without fees.
She looked up from the book she had been idly scanning at her solitary
meal to see her son standing in the door. So white and strained he was,
so actually ill he seemed that the mother’s hand went to her throat to
ease the choking lump that rose. What could have happened now?
“Howard!” she cried chokingly. “What is it, dear? What is wrong?”
Without a word, he crossed to his mother’s chair and laid before her the
paper he held. The black type stared up at her, and for a moment, she
could not take it in.
PROMINENT LAWYER KILLED IN STREET
AS AUTOS COLLIDE
JOHN HAMMOND, FORMER SENATOR
DIES INSTANTLY
Tears that had not come for so long to the eyes of Marjorie Benton, who
had believed they had dried forever, gathered under the hot lids. She
could not read further. She looked up at her son, standing there with
his hopeless expression, and her arms went out to him as she hid her
face on his rough coat.
“Oh, my dear! My dear!” she cried heart-rendingly, “it can’t be true!
We’ve lost our best friend!”
Howard was tender as he stroked her head. But the stricken expression
went from his eyes. He straightened himself, then leaned over his mother
and lifted her head to look directly at her.
“No, mother,” he said gently. “We’ve lost a friend—a wonderful
friend—but not our best friend while you or I live!”
The papers were all loud in their praise of the prominent man. They
spoke of him in terms of profound respect and admiration. He had won a
great name and enviable reputation for himself, by his many acts of
benevolence and absolute integrity in all his dealings. There were many
he had befriended who mourned him sincerely.
But there were none who felt his loss as keenly as Marjorie and Howard
Benton. They knew they had lost a friend who could not be replaced.
With the tragedy occurring so near the beginning of Howard’s trial, the
days were busy ones that followed. New counsel had to be procured, and
when, through friends, Monroe Garden, a celebrated trial lawyer, had
been called into the case, they found that the work of weeks had to be
gone over. With a sinking heart, too, Marjorie Benton found that it
would strain her resources if the matter should be long delayed.
And delayed it was. Mr. Garden’s ideas were different from Hammond’s.
The latter had been all for rushing the matter through. He fought for
delay upon delay, explaining to his impatient clients that it was the
best thing to do.
Perhaps he was right. For after several months of anxiety and
nerve-racking suspense, Howard was acquitted!
The strain upon Marjorie had been frightful—both upon her mentality and
her bank account. There had been one expense after the other, and as she
already knew, the lawyer’s fee was exorbitant. She was so overjoyed at
the verdict, though, that she paid him gladly, and it was not until it
was all over, that she realized to the full extent how terribly her
funds had been depleted.
But it was with a heart full of thankfulness, a deep sigh of relief that
she had her son—that he stood free and cleared of intent of crime
before the world—that Marjorie Benton turned to take up the slackened
thread of her life. There was so much to hope for. And surely all that
could possibly happen had happened, and there must now be some peace and
happiness awaiting her.
It was with a ruder shock than any that had preceded that the mother was
awakened from her new dream. Ever since his acquittal Howard had seemed
listless, not entirely himself. She had put this down to the strain,
however, knowing well how it had affected her, too. Howard would soon be
himself, and they would have a wonderful life together.
She was preparing to leave her room for the dining room in the hotel one
morning—(she always breakfasted early with him these days) when word
was brought her that her son was ill. She rushed into his room to find
that the boy had collapsed as he tried to leave his bed. The physician
who was hastily summoned advised an immediate removal, and before an
hour had passed, Howard Benton was in a small room in a sanitarium,
tossing in the feverish delirium of typhoid. The weeks he laid there
passed into months; one complication on another set in, for his
constitution was in a badly run-down condition, owing to the months of
anxiety he had been obliged to endure during his trial.
There was something martyrlike in the way Marjorie managed to bear up
under her heavy cross. She grew haggard and pale as she hovered near the
bedside of her boy day and night. It was only when the doctor threatened
to bar her from the room entirely, that she consented to go home for a
few hours’ rest at night. But even then she didn’t rest. She either
paced the floor in her anguish and despair, or she knelt beside her bed
praying to God not to take her beloved boy from her now—now that she
had just found him.
And God in His great mercy, heard her prayers, for Howard began slowly
to fight his way back again to health and strength. It was then, in
these days of convalescence that the wonderful devotion between mother
and son became noticeable to everyone connected with the sanitarium.
Outside of going to her room for a few hours at night, she never left
him for a minute. She read to him by the hour, played all sorts of games
with him, such as a small boy might have enjoyed, and when he was able
to be taken out a bit, she wheeled him up and down the corridor, or out
into the garden without ever tiring.
On his part, he was never happy unless she was beside him. He wouldn’t
go to sleep at night without holding her hands, and in the morning, if
she was delayed ten minutes in arriving, he would insist upon the nurse
telephoning to find out whether anything had happened.
It was beautiful—this great love—to all who witnessed it. Especially
was it so to Marjorie herself. She fairly reveled in it. Her soul,
love-starved for so many years, reached out passionately for this
new-found joy.
In Howard’s presence she was always smiling and cheerful. Never for a
moment did she permit him to think that there was anything wrong. No
matter how hard she would be obliged to struggle, she would never reveal
to him the true state of their affairs until he had completely
recovered.
It was amazing to her the way her money seemed to diminish as if by
magic. There wasn’t anyone she could appeal to. Hugh and Elinor had left
for Paris a few days after the trial ended, and even if Hugh had not
gone, she would have died before appealing to him. He had treated her
shamefully all through the trial, coming into court day after day,
without once speaking to her, or even noticing her. Of course, she never
guessed that he was really ashamed to look at her. Conscience is a
difficult tormentor at times.
The day before they sailed, Elinor called her on the ’phone.
“We’re leaving for Europe to-morrow, mother,” she announced. “May I come
out to see you before we go?”
“I really can’t see why you should wish to see me, Elinor,” she answered
as coolly as her daughter had spoken, but her heart was beating madly.
“Well, I’m going a long ways from here, and somehow—I should like
you—to wish me luck.” There was a little sob in her voice.
“I do wish you the best luck in the world—_always_,” Marjorie replied
heartily; “only I don’t feel as if I could stand seeing you just yet.”
“I’m sorry, mother. Good-by.”
Marjorie heard the receiver click at the other end of the line.
Elinor and Hugh had passed out of her life.
When she discovered her funds dwindling away to almost nothing, she
endeavored to economize in every possible way. She gave up their rooms
in the hotel where Howard had fallen ill, and moved into a back-room in
a private dwelling close to the sanitarium, explaining to Howard that
she had made the change in order to be nearer him.
One morning, she entered Howard’s room, expecting to find him sitting up
in bed finishing his breakfast as usual. To her great surprise, he
rushed toward her and grabbed her in his arms. He was dressed for the
street, while his suitcase stood in the corner, packed and strapped.
“Hello, dearest!” he cried, kissing her fondly, “what do you think of
your boy now?”
“Why, darling—what does this mean?” She struggled out of his embrace
and looked about her in surprise.
“It means that I’m perfectly well, mother—and able to go home with you
now.” He kissed her again. “I knew all about it yesterday, but I begged
Doctor Simpson and Miss Sanders not to tell you. I wanted the pleasure
of surprising you myself. Are you happy, dear?”
“Happy to see you well and able to leave here? Why, darling, you know
how happy I am, only—only—” she stammered helplessly, “I—I wish you
had told me yesterday.”
“But why, mother? I can’t see why it was necessary to tell you in
advance? All you have to do is to call a taxi and take me home.”
“Well—you see, dear—” she hesitated slightly, “I wanted to know a day
or two in advance so that I could look for a small apartment, or else
engage another room—in the house—where I am now living.”
“Another room? Why, dearest, do you mean to say that you have only one
room?”
“Why yes—you see——”
“I can’t understand it! Surely you knew I wasn’t going to remain here
forever! You should have remained in your comfortable room at the hotel.
You could have easily taken a taxi back and forth from here.”
“Well I—I—” The tears she had held back in his presence for those long
months suddenly gushed forth. She had reached the end of her strength.
Sobs shook her.
“Dearest, _what_ is it? Sit here and tell me all about it.” Howard
placed her tenderly in the rocker, and drew a chair for himself close
beside her.
“No—no—it’s nothing at all.” She tried hard to check her tears as she
protested, but unavailingly. “I’ll tell you as soon as you’re well and
strong, but now——”
“I’m well and strong now! Why Doctor Simpson says I’m in a better
physical condition than I’ve ever been since I was a boy. I insist upon
your telling me just exactly what it is that is troubling you, mother,”
he said firmly.
“Very well, dear.” She realized it was useless to refuse.
So she told him everything,—just what amount of money Hugh had given
her and exactly how much of it had been spent.
“Oh, mother, dear, if you had only mentioned it to me at the time,” he
reproached her gently. “You can’t imagine how hurt I was because you
failed to tell me. I thought it was because you didn’t trust me enough.”
“No, no, it wasn’t that,” she hastened to assure him. “I didn’t wish you
to feel more embittered toward your father.”
“I’d have gone to him at the time and told him plainly just what I
thought of him!” he exclaimed indignantly. “He cheated you,
mother—that’s what he did—and all because of that miserable creature!”
“Hush, dear, you’re only exciting yourself needlessly,” she cautioned
him, “and it won’t do a bit of good. The thing is this—just what are we
going to do?”
“_We_ are not going to do anything, dearest.” He put his arms tenderly
about her. “_I’m_ going to do it all. I’m going to work, and take care
of you the rest of your life!”