Terry Riordan arranged an interview for Ruth with the Sunday editor of
the _Express_, with the result that she found herself promised to do a
weekly page of theatrical sketches, beginning the first of the year, and
she discovered the unique joy of having real work which was wanted and
for which she would receive money. Also she discovered that association
with a newspaper and connection with a weekly stipend gave her a
prestige with her fellow students which no amount of splendid amateur
effort would have won for her. Dorothy and Nels told every one they knew
about “Ruth Mayfield’s splendid success,” and Professor Burroughs
congratulated her.
“It is always sad to see a student with a real gift neglecting it for a
fancied talent,” he said, “and it is equally satisfying when any of our
students wisely follow the line of work for which they are fitted. We
don’t want to turn out dabblers, and too often that’s what art students
become.”
Ruth would have looked forward to the beginning of the next year
eagerly, had she been thinking only of herself, for her new work was
throwing her much in the company of Terry Riordan, who was taking her to
the theatre every night, so that she would become familiar with the
appearance and mannerisms of the popular actresses and actors. Of course
he was doing it only because he was such a kind-hearted man and because
he wanted to help her, but even Ruth knew that if she had not been a
rather pleasant companion he would not have taken so much interest in
helping her. His cheerfulness puzzled her. He seemed so brave and
happy—but perhaps it was merely the forced gaiety of a man who is trying
to forget.
It was not, however, her own affairs that interested her most. Terry had
found a producer for his play and despite the lateness of the season,
rehearsals for it were to begin in January. Gloria had been offered the
leading rôle, and with characteristic perverseness had said that she was
not at all sure that she wanted it, information that Terry refused to
convey to the manager. This, coupled with the fact that Gloria was now
constantly in the company of Prince Aglipogue, made Ruth remember
vividly her conversation with George. Her beauty, her restlessness, her
changeful moods seemed to increase from day to day. She was always kind
to Ruth, but she was very seldom with her. Invitations that a month
before would have been thrown away unread were now accepted and Gloria
dashed about from one place to another, always with Prince Aglipogue in
her wake. His ponderous attentions seemed to surround her like a cage
and she, like a darting humming-bird, seemed ever to be struggling to
escape and ever recognizing the bars that enclosed her.
Terry and Ruth, returning very late from supper after the theatre, would
sometimes find her sitting in semi-darkness, while the Prince sang to
her, but in such brief glimpses there was no chance for intimate
conversation between the two women. Alone with Terry at the theatre or
in some restaurant, Ruth almost forgot the shadow hanging over the house
on Gramercy Park. Terry was so gay and amusing, so healthful and normal
in his outlook, and wherever they went they met his friends, until Ruth
began to feel like a personage. It was all very pleasant. Late hours had
forced her to appear less and less often at the morning class, but she
was always at the League in the afternoon and she began to wonder
whether she would not give it up altogether as soon as she actually
began her work for the _Express_. She had tried to tell Terry about her
talk with George; but a few hours away from George and his snake worship
and the sight of George in his rôle of servant had restored what Terry
called his mental balance, and he no longer regarded him as dangerous.
He was beginning to be a bit ashamed of even listening to Ruth’s fears.
“It’s only natural that you should be nervous—that we should both have
been a bit impressed, it was so weird and unexpected, but after all
George is just a servant, and the snake is probably a harmless reptile,
such as one sees in any circus. I do not think that he is a bad servant
and that he does not regard Gloria as a servant should; he’s impertinent
and disagreeable, if you like, but I don’t believe he has the slightest
thing to do with Professor Pendragon’s illness. How could he?”
He talked thus until Ruth despaired of securing his assistance. Terry
had given Gloria a contract to sign, which she persistently refused to
consider. Finally he appealed to Ruth about it.
“Can’t you make Gloria sign it?” he said. “She seemed keen enough before
we found a producer and before the thing was cast, and now that she has
the contract before her, she seems to have lost all interest. I can’t
imagine what’s wrong. Of course temperament covers a multitude of sins,
but she never was temperamental about her work.”
“Perhaps she’s decided to really abandon the stage,” said Ruth.
They were having supper together—Ruth didn’t know where. One of the
delightful things about Terry was that he never asked her where she
wanted to go. He didn’t even tell her where they were going. He just
took her.
Terry looked at her in amazement. “Leave the stage?”
“Did it ever occur to you that Gloria might marry Prince Aglipogue?” she
asked.
Terry answered with a laugh:
“My dear child, you’ve thought so much about Gloria and George that
you’re beginning to think of impossibilities. Gloria wouldn’t marry a
man like that, and if she did she’d have to stay on the stage to support
him. The house, of course, belongs to her, but the income from her other
husband—I forget his name—would certainly stop if she remarried.”
“I know; I thought it was preposterous too, but she’s always with him,
and George told me that Gloria would marry Aglipogue.”
“Servants’ gossip, or perhaps he did it to annoy you. Did you tell
Gloria?”
“No; I never get a chance to talk to her any more.”
“If you told her it might make her angry enough to dismiss him. Gloria
hates being discussed. Is the Prince going to the Christmas party?”
“Of course; he goes everywhere that Gloria goes. I know you think that I
am foolish and superstitious, but I can’t help thinking that George has
some power over Gloria—that what he says is true—that he’s forcing her
to marry Prince Aglipogue and that he is responsible for Professor
Pendragon’s strange illness. The first time I saw George with the snake
was almost three months ago—that same night Professor Pendragon became
paralysed; the next time was just a month later and at the same time
Professor Pendragon’s paralysis became suddenly worse. It was at the
dark of the moon—”
The last words were spoken almost in a whisper and when she paused Terry
did not speak, but sat waiting for her to go on.
“I know George hasn’t worshipped the snake since that time, for I’ve
been in the house every night and you can always tell because of the
incense that fills the hall and lingers there for hours. Christmas Eve
will be the next dark of the moon. I know, for I’ve looked it up. We’ll
all be in the Berkshires then, at the Peyton-Russells’. George will be
there, too—and I’m afraid—I’m afraid.”
Terry still sat silent looking at her with an expression of helpless
amazement. His blue eyes were troubled and doubting and she knew that
while he did not quite disbelieve her, he was by no means convinced,
that her fears were justified. It was all too bizarre and unusual. The
only trace of fear in his eyes was for herself, not for Gloria, or
Professor Pendragon. She had been bending eagerly toward him. Now she
sank back with a little helpless sigh. Instantly Terry’s hand reached
across the table and caught her own in a comforting grip.
“Tell me what you want me to do, Ruth; I’ll do anything. I’ll do
anything for you—anything in or out of reason. I don’t understand all
this talk about snakes and black magic, but whatever you want done, you
can depend on me.”
The blood rushed into Ruth’s cheeks in a glow of happiness. Something
deeper than friendship thrilled in his voice. For a moment she forgot
Gloria, and believed that she was looking into the eyes of her own
acknowledged lover. Then she remembered. His words, even his eyes told
her that he did, but it could not be true. For a moment she could not
speak. She must think of Gloria first and herself afterward, but she
wanted to prolong her dream a little while. Finally she told him what
she had decided in her own mind was the only thing that Terry could do
for her. She knew that he did not believe that George was menacing the
life of Professor Pendragon, or that he was influencing Gloria to marry
Prince Aglipogue, but even though he did not love her, he would do
whatever she asked.
“I want you to get me a revolver, Terry; I want a revolver—one of those
little ones—before we go to the Christmas party.”
She did not quite understand the curious “let down” expression on
Terry’s face, when she made her request.
“You don’t want to shoot George or the snake?” he asked, smiling.
“I don’t want to shoot any one or any thing unless—anyway I’d feel much
more comfortable if I had a little revolver.”
“You shall have one; I’ll call it a Christmas present; but can you
shoot?”
“I don’t know. I suppose I could hit things if they weren’t too far away
or too small.”
“If you accidentally kill any of your friends I shall feel morally
responsible, but I suppose I’ll just have to take a chance. Do you by
any chance want the thing to be loaded?”
“Of course,” said Ruth, ignoring his frivolous tone.
They went home together almost in silence. Ruth did not know what
occupied Terry’s thoughts, but she herself was wondering if she could
find the courage to ask Terry to save Gloria from George and Aglipogue,
by marrying her himself. It was all very well to be unselfish in love,
but for some weeks at least it seemed to her that Terry had given up all
effort to interest Gloria. If he would only make an effort he might save
Gloria from the Prince and win happiness for himself, but despite her
generous resolves, she could not bring herself to advise him to “speak
for himself.”
They could hear Prince Aglipogue singing as she unlocked the door of the
house on Gramercy Square. The sound of his voice and the piano covered
the opening and closing of the door, so that they stood looking in on
Gloria and her guest without themselves being observed. The song was
just ending—Prince Aglipogue at the piano, her eyes wide and if she
heard the music she did not see the singer. There was a trance-like
expression in her eyes and when, the song ending, they saw Aglipogue
draw her to the seat beside him and lift his face to kiss her, with one
movement Terry and Ruth drew back toward the outer door.
“Guess I’d better go,” whispered Terry.
“Yes; you saw George was right. They didn’t see us—don’t forget my
revolver.”
She closed the door after Terry, this time with a loud bang that could
not fail to be heard and as she turned back she saw, far down the hall,
two red eyes gleaming at her, like the eyes of a cat. She wondered if
George had been watching too, and if his quick ears caught her whispered
words to Terry.
Gloria called her name before she entered the room, almost like old
times, but Prince Aglipogue did not seem to be particularly pleased to
see her.
“You were singing,” she said to him. “Please don’t stop because I’ve
come. I love to hear you.”
“Thank you, but it is late for more music; and it is late, too, for
little girls who study, to be up even for the sake of music.”
Even a week ago he would not have dared speak to her like that. He sat
staring at her now, out of his insolent, oily black eyes, as if she were
really a troublesome child. For a moment anger choked her voice and she
half expected Gloria to speak for her, but Gloria was still looking at
Aglipogue, the strange trance-like expression in her eyes, and Ruth
became calm. If Prince Aglipogue chose to be rude she could be
impervious to rudeness.
“I’m not trying to make the morning classes any more, Prince Aglipogue,
so I can stay up as long as I like, but perhaps you’re tired of
singing.”
It was Aglipogue who looked at Gloria now as if he expected her to send
Ruth away, but she said nothing, sitting quite still with her long hands
folded in her lap, a most uncharacteristic pose, and a faint smile on
her lips. She seemed to have forgotten both of them. It seemed
incredible that less than five minutes before Ruth had seen her bend her
head to meet the lips of the fat singer—incredible and horrible.
“Yes, I’m tired—of singing,” said Aglipogue after a pause. He rose and
lifted one of Gloria’s lovely hands and kissed it. Simultaneously George
appeared at the door with his hat and stick. It seemed to Ruth that
under his air of great deference and humility George was sneering at the
Prince. Gloria, seemingly only half roused from her trance or reverie,
rose also in farewell and seemed to struggle to concentrate on her
departing guest.
“Tomorrow,” he said, bending again over her hand.
“Yes, tomorrow.”
He went out without again speaking to Ruth, who waited breathless until
she heard the closing of the outer door. Gloria watched him disappear,
and then lifted her arms high above her head, stretching her superb body
up to its full length like a great Persian cat just waking from a nap.
“What are you doing up at this hour, Ruth?” She spoke as if seeing Ruth
for the first time.
“I went to the theatre with Terry, you know, and then we went to supper
afterward and I came in fifteen minutes ago. I’m not a bit tired.”
“I am, horribly, of everything.”
“It’s only Prince Aglipogue who’s been boring you. No wonder you’re
tired of him. If he’d only sing behind a curtain so that one didn’t have
to look at him, he would be quite lovely,” said Ruth. She spoke thus
with the intention of making Gloria tell what she really thought of the
Prince. Gloria sank back on her chair by the piano and rested her chin
on her folded hands, her elbows on her knees. Unlike most large women
she seemed able to assume any attitude she chose without appearing
ungraceful.
“You don’t like Aggie, do you?”
She was looking at Ruth now with something of her normal expression in
her eyes.
“I don’t exactly dislike him,” said Ruth. “He’s all right as a singer or
a pianist or a painter, but as a man he is singularly uninteresting,
isn’t he?”
“He is horribly stupid—I—” Suddenly her expression changed and she was
on her feet again, walking restlessly up and down the room: “I’m going
to marry him; he’s going to South America on a concert tour and I’ll go
with him—I’m so tired of everything; I want to get away.”
Involuntarily Ruth had also risen, bewildered at the sudden change in
Gloria’s manner. Through the open doorway she could see George standing
in the dimly lighted hall beyond, his red eyes gleaming, fixed on
Gloria’s moving figure. She thought she understood, at least in part,
the reason for the sudden change and though she was trembling with the
unreasoning fear that assails the bravest in the face of the mysterious
and unknown, she forced herself to move across the room so that she
stood between George in the hall, and Gloria. She could almost feel his
malignant gaze on her back as she stood in the doorway, but she did not
falter.
“If you do that, Gloria, it will mean that you can’t work in Terry’s
play—It will mean giving up everything—your career and your income. Does
Prince Aglipogue know that?”
Gloria paused in her restless walk and looked at her from beneath her
troubled brows.
“I don’t care about the career; I’m tired of the stage, but what
difference will the income make? It’s such a little one, you know.”
“Still it may make a difference with Aglipogue, and if you give up your
career and your income you will be dependent on him. That should make a
difference to you.”
Ruth wondered afterward where she got all this worldly knowledge and how
she was able to say it, with George’s eyes burning into her back.
“What a practical child you are; but let’s not talk about it tonight.
I’m awfully tired. We were going to announce our engagement Christmas
Eve, but there’s no harm in your knowing.”
“Gloria, you can’t—you can’t marry him. He’s fat and selfish and
horrid!” In her excitement she forgot George and moved to Gloria’s side.
“You don’t know what you’re doing.”
Gloria’s eyes looked across her, over her head and the trance-like look
came back into them.
“When you are as old as I you will know that physical appearance doesn’t
matter much. I don’t know why I’m marrying Aggie, but it seems to be
happening. So many things happen—I need a change; I want to travel in a
new country. Besides it’s all fixed—it’s too late now—too late—”
She threw off Ruth’s detaining hands and swept past her through the hall
and up the stairway, and Ruth did not try to follow her. Somewhere
beyond the shadows she knew that George was still standing, his red eyes
gleaming like those of a cat. She waited a few minutes to give Gloria
time to go to her room and to give him time to retire to his own
quarters. She did not want to pass him in the hall, and when at last she
also went up, she thought she caught the sounds of suppressed sobs,
coming from Gloria’s room. It would do no good to stop. In two days more
they would be going to the Berkshires and there either George would win
in his curious twisted plans or she would defeat him. If only she knew
where to find Professor Pendragon. Terry could not help. He was too
modern and practical. He couldn’t understand, his mind was fresh and
clean and honest and western. If she could see Pendragon again she would
tell him everything and he might help. She decided to telephone his
hotel in the morning and find out, if possible, just where he had gone.