After he had helped Kitty with the dishes, John Scidmore left the house
for a walk. It was a calm, beautiful night, lit by a slender moon hung
high in the heavens and stars twinkling cheerily. As he went along the
elm-shaded streets, he drew in deep breaths, striving to steady the
tumult within him.
Kitty's words hummed themselves into his inner consciousness. 'No, John,
it wouldn't be necessary.' What did she really mean? Did she think he
had the courage to settle such a question decisively--righteously?
Did-- He stopped, turning the phrase over in his mind. He knew that
materially he had been a failure. People called him a nice fellow and
let it go at that. Was it possible for his wife, the wife who had lived
so close to all his weaknesses, to glorify him with so large a hope? The
thought began to thrill him.
He heard the Old Library clock on the University campus chime nine. He
began to walk slowly in the direction of the chiming clock. He was still
undecided, still battling with his cowardice. The shrill whistle of an
incoming train arrested him. This same train would swing back to San
Francisco in ten minutes. He retraced his steps. In ten minutes-- His
legs seemed weighted. He wondered whether he would really catch it.
* * * * *
Standing before the massive facade of the Hotel Fairmont, John Scidmore
had a fleeting hope that Julia Norris would not be at home. But almost
as instantly he felt a desperate need to clear himself at once. If he
waited even an hour he could not vouch for the outcome. He walked
rapidly into the lobby, gave his name to the hotel clerk, and awaited
the reply with beating heart. Mrs. Norris _was_ in. A bell-boy,
answering the clerk's summons, showed him to her apartments.
A maid ushered him into a reception room. He sank into one of the
luxurious chairs, drumming upon its arms with nervous fingers.
A lamp on the centre table threw a rich, golden light over the
surroundings. Thrown over a chair a lace scarf fell with the undulating
softness of a cascade. Near a vase of blood-red roses a long white glove
had been dropped carelessly.
He did not wait long. Julia Norris came toward him with her usual warm
smile, and a hand outstretched in welcome. He stood up. She was very
simply dressed, in white, and a band of velvet at her throat set off a
fine cameo ringed with pearls, but her air of quiet elegance caught and
held his resentful eyes.
A fierce, unreasoning hate began to sway him; for a moment his vision
blurred.
As she stepped back to pick up her lace scarf from the chair, John
Scidmore recovered his poise.
'I was afraid you would be out,' he began inadequately.
She threw the scarf about her shoulders. 'I was preparing to drift
downstairs to watch the dancing,' she answered. 'You caught me just in
time.'
He stood irresolutely, almost awkwardly, watching her dainty
manipulations of the filmy lace. Then quite suddenly, so suddenly as to
surprise even himself, he blurted out,--
'I lied to you this morning. I took your order for insurance. I forgot
to place it.'
She stood for a moment in silence.
'What made you--'
John Scidmore shrugged. His vision was clearing. He felt quite calm.
'You suggested the idea yourself. You were so ready to take the blame. I
suppose it was self-preservation. I began to strike blindly--as any
desperate man would. I'm not what they call a success--I never have
been. You know how it is, some people-- Oh, well! Some of us don't get
by, that's all.'
He turned away. Julia Norris touched him on the shoulder.
'John, can't you see that the ten thousand dollars doesn't matter to me?
But you and Kitty--you and Kitty _do_ matter.'
He began to crush his hat between his clasped hands.