Perhaps six weeks after Miss Goucher's death one little conversation,
just skirting these hidden matters, did take place between us; but how
different was its atmosphere, and how drearily different its conclusion!
You will understand it better now that--like a theater audience, or like
God--you are in full possession of Susan's facts and of mine; but I fear
it will interest you less. To know all may sometimes be to forgive all;
but more often, alas, it is to be bored by everything....
[Firmly inserted note, by Susan: "Rubbish! It's only when we _think_ we
know it all, and don't really, that we are bored."]
I had taken Susan for dinner that night to a quiet hotel uptown where I
knew the dining-room, mercifully lacking an orchestra and a cabaret, was
not well patronized, though the cooking was exceptionally good. At this
hotel, by a proper manipulation of the head waiter, it is often possible
to get a table a little apart from the other diners--an advantage, if
one desires to talk intimately without the annoyance of being overheard.
It troubled me to find Susan's appetite practically nonexistent; I had
ordered one or two special dishes to tempt her, but I saw that she took
no pleasure in them, merely forcing herself to eat so as not to disquiet
me. She was looking badly, too, all gleamless shadow, and fighting off a
physical and mental languor by a stubborn effort which she might have
concealed from another, but not from me. It was only too plain to me
that her wish was to keep the conversation safely away from whatever was
busying and saddening her private thoughts. In this, till the coffee was
placed before us, I thought best to humor her, and we had discussed at
great length the proper format for her first book of poems, which was to
appear within the next month. Also, we had discussed Heywood Sampson's
now rapidly maturing plans for his new critical review.
"He really wants me on his staff, Ambo, and I really want to be on
it--just for the pleasure of working with him. It's an absolutely
unbelievable chance for me! And yet----"
"And yet----? Is there any reason why you shouldn't accept?"
"At least two reasons, yes. I'm afraid both of them will surprise you."
"I wonder."
"Won't they? If not, Ambo, you must suppose you've guessed them. What
are they?"
Susan rather had me here. I had not guessed them, but wasn't willing to
admit even to myself that I could not if I tried. I puckered my brows,
judicially.
"Well," I hesitated, "you may very naturally feel that 'Dax' is too
plump a bird in the hand to be sacrificed for Heywood's slim bluebird in
the bush. Any new publication's a gamble, of course. On the other hand,
Heywood isn't the kind to leave his associates high and dry. Even if the
review should fail, he'll stand by you somehow. He has a comfy fortune,
you know; he could carry on the review as a personal hobby if he cares
to, even if it never cleared a penny."
Susan smiled, gravely shaking her head: "Cold, dear; stone cold. I'm
pretty mercenary these days, but I'm not quite so mercenary as that. Now
that I've discovered I can make a living, I'm not nearly so interested
in it; hardly at all. It's the stupid side of life, always; I shouldn't
like it to make much difference to me now, when it comes to real
decisions. I did want a nice home for Sister, though. As for me, any old
room most anywhere will do. It will, Ambo; don't laugh; I'm in earnest.
But what's your second guess?" she added quickly.
"You've some writing you want to do--a book, maybe? You're afraid the
review will interfere?"
"Ah, now you're a tiny bit warmer! I am afraid it will interfere, but in
a much deeper way than that; interfere with _me_."
"I don't quite follow that, do I!"
"Good gracious, no--since you ask. It's simple enough, though--and
pretty vague. Only it feels important--here." For an instant her hand
just touched her breast. "I hate so to be roped in, Ambo, have things
staked out for me--spiritually, I mean. Mr. Sampson's a darling; I love
him! But he's a great believer in ropes and stakes and fences--even
barbed wire. I'm beginning to see that the whole idea of his review is a
scheme for mending political and moral and social fences, stopping up
gaps in them made by irresponsible idealists--anarchists, revolutionary
socialists--people like that. People like me, really!--There! Now you do
look surprised."