NEAERA AGAIN
Neaera's attempt on Chairo had proved a humiliating failure, and when
she confronted Lydia her cheeks were flushed, not with success as might
have been imagined, but with the effort to escape without disgrace from
a situation for which she had no one to thank or blame but herself.
Chairo had certainly at one time been attracted by Neaera beyond the
limits of mere companionship, but he had not taken long to discover that
the glances that tended to bewitch him were no less bewitchingly turned
on others, and he soon put Neaera where she deserved in his
acquaintance.
She was extremely useful to him in his political plans and on the staff
of "Liberty"; and although he was dimly conscious that Neaera would to
the end--at every moment that the strain of the actual work was
relieved--endeavor to bring into their intimacy the element of coquetry
of which she was a past master, Chairo treated this disposition with
something of the amused sense of her charm that would be elicited by a
pet animal. And this willingness to be amused by her Neaera understood
to mean a tribute to her attractiveness that might on a suitable
occasion lead to an exchange of vows at the altar of matrimony.
But she little understood Chairo when she attempted to force the
occasion of their meeting at Masters's into a channel so opposite to his
present disposition. When he entered the room where Neaera awaited him
the lines in his face and the fatigue in his eye elicited from Neaera an
ejaculation in which, strange to say, there was some real sincerity. She
was truly sorry for him, and she was woman enough to guess that the
weary face before her was due to no mere political reverses, for the
face was not only that of a tired man, it was also that of a man who had
been chastened. She was restive under the thought that the chastening
influence could be his love for Lydia, and the problem before her grew
complicated when she guessed how difficult it would be for her to elicit
from Chairo any word that could sting the woman whom to that particular
end she had secreted in the adjoining room. Then, too, although she was
mistress of her own voice, she was not mistress of Chairo's, and the
possibility that Lydia might close her ears was one that did not enter
within the scope of Neaera's imagination.
After having expressed her sympathy for Chairo and found that it
elicited little or no response from him, but, on the contrary, that he
was eager to know the reason of her presence in New York and of her
message to him, she launched upon a highly imaginative account of her
relations to Masters, and with her command of humor very soon got Chairo
laughing over the success with which, according to her story, she had
pulled the wool over Masters's eyes. Chairo had no reason to love
Masters, and he had long ceased to regard Neaera as a responsible
person; the immorality of her proceeding affected him, therefore, no
more than if he had observed it in a monkey or a cat.
Neaera told her story in words so rapid and a voice so low that Lydia
could hardly have understood it had she tried, and Neaera felt that she
had scored a point when she had made Chairo laugh. Then, anticipating
the effect of silence on Lydia, she had handed Chairo some selected
passages from Masters's letters to read, and as Chairo burst again into
laughter over certain passages in them, Neaera began to feel she might
venture farther. Laughter, especially over an unrighteous matter, tends
to make all righteousness seem superfluous, but when Neaera got near
Chairo, in a pretense of reading over his shoulder, a very slight and
almost unconscious movement of Chairo away from her made her understand
that any further effort in this direction would be a mistake.
So Neaera set herself to discussing very seriously the situation with
Chairo, assured him that she was prepared to sacrifice herself, and with
a tear in her eye admitted to him, almost in a whisper, that she had
tampered with his carriage.
"I knew it," said Chairo.
"But did you guess why?" asked Neaera, very low.
Chairo did not answer, but looked inquiry.
"Then you shall never know," continued Neaera.
This was the psychological moment of the interview. She had intended,
had Chairo given her the least encouragement, to throw herself into his
arms and confess to him that she had never loved any man but him, that
so great was her love for him that she was prepared now to face the
investigating committee, tell the whole story, and telling the story by
so much exonerate him. She had expected that if there was a spark of
affection in Chairo's heart for her, his chivalrousness would be roused
by this offer, and he would share her fortunes rather than permit her
sacrifice to assure his.
But the possibility of this imagined scene had been dissipated by that
little unconscious movement of Chairo's away from her. Then, too, she
knew that Lydia was in the next room, and she almost regretted now that
she was there, for if Lydia had not been there she might have risked the
venture. But that Lydia should witness a humiliating rejection was a
risk she could not take. So she had spoken very low and rapidly in the
hope that although Lydia might not hear any specific word that would
hurt, she might gather a general impression that would sufficiently
torment her. She little knew how completely she was, to this extent at
any rate, succeeding.
"My dear Neaera," answered Chairo, "you are a very charming and
complicated person and I do not pretend to guess why you chose to thwart
my plans. But you have done me a great wrong in many ways. Should you
decide now to repair them--in so far as this is possible--you will be
behaving in a manner which, though proper, would hardly be consistent."
He smiled a little as he said this; Neaera wished he would not speak so
loud, and was even betrayed into a gesture which he interpreted as a
gesture of protest, but was really an instinctive effort to induce him
to lower his voice.
"You are very cruel to me," said Neaera, and she lowered her eyelids so
that her long, black lashes swept her cheek.
"And you are a charming little _comedienne_," laughed Chairo, "and you
ought to have devoted yourself to the stage."
"The world's my stage," she said, raising her eyes with a flash of
indignation. "And there is upon it every kind of character. But while I
have made a fool of many I have always respected you, and this is how
you pay me for it!"
Chairo was not deceived by her pretty little air of indignation, but he
said to himself that though it was a part she was playing, she played it
well; so he arose, and, taking her hand, said:
"I do not mean to be unkind, Neaera, and for anything you do to help me
I shall be profoundly grateful."
"What shall I do, Chairo?" she asked, looking up appealingly to him.
"Ah! that is in your hands," he answered.
"You can count upon me," she said, holding his hand in both of hers.
Chairo did not wish to prolong the interview, so by way of farewell he
lifted her hands to his lips. Then she fell upon her knees, kissed his
hands not once but many times, and bathed them in her tears. He lifted
her gently and put her in her chair.
"Good-bye, little woman," he said gently, "and be sure that whatever you
may do, I shall feel kindly toward you," and disengaging himself from
her, he left the room.
Neaera saw him leave with something like real affection in her heart.
"He is the best of them all," she said, "and I might have loved him
really." And whether it was that there was in her something that might
have responded to him had he love to give her or whether it was mere
reaction from her own trumped-up distress, there was a moment as Neaera
sat there when the little woman did sincerely think herself in love.
But the recollection that Lydia was in the next room came to her, and
she wondered how much Lydia had heard. She looked in the mirror and saw
there the reflection of the very agitation she wished Lydia to suspect,
and so before the trace of it could disappear, she hurried to her
victim. Perhaps, thought she, Lydia had heard something without hearing
too much.