During the months of summer Belton was usually crowded with city
guests, but the last of these departed, as a rule, with the falling
leaves, and by the time winter had set in the little town had relapsed
into its normal monotony.
One year, however, there was an exception, and Mrs. Bryan, who had
pleasant accommodations in her large, old-fashioned house, received,
for a stay understood to be indefinite, a city boarder, who arrived in
midwinter, and took two of her best rooms at the highest summer rates.
This lady was duly indorsed and recommended--as Mrs. Bryan’s boarders
were required to be--in spite of the fact that she was coming with the
avowed purpose of getting a divorce from her husband.
The new arrival--Mrs. Leith--proved to be young and exceedingly pretty.
All her simple, dark costumes were made in the highest fashion, and
had the names of the best French dressmakers on their linings. She
was an extremely small woman, exquisitely made, and with minutely
perfect hands and feet. She had with her an immense Angora cat, and an
old negro servant-woman, who had been her nurse. Her companions are
mentioned in the order of their estimation in Mrs. Leith’s regard. The
great, white, sleepy, selfish, unresponsive cat was her very idol; and
the old negress, who loved and watched over and toiled and suffered for
her, was taken little account of, and even, at times, made the object
of unreasonable and unjust irritation. But “Mauma,” as her mistress
called her, cared nothing whatever for that. The days of slavery were
over, but she was held by chains more binding and restrictive than any
that they could forge or break.
This old woman had an immense power of reserve, and her lips were
sealed as to any revelations concerning the past life of her young
mistress. Mrs. Bryan, however, made a few notes from her own
observation. She noticed, for instance, that Mrs. Leith always looked
forward to the coming of the mail with an eager interest, and that,
no matter what letters were received, the expression of her face was
always the same--disappointment. She wrote few letters, herself, and
seemed to take little interest in those that she got. Mrs. Bryan
came to know, moreover, that on the not infrequent occasions when
Mrs. Leith would excuse herself from coming to meals, the cause was
generally a fit of crying which, no doubt, gave rise to the headache
which Mauma would name as her excuse. Once or twice, when Mrs. Bryan
had accidentally got a glimpse of the inner room, where she had gone
to make inquiries, she had seen the same picture--the old negress in
a big rocking-chair before the fire, in her arms her young mistress,
dressed in a little silk dressing-gown that looked like a baby’s long
frock. Mauma was rocking her backward and forward, patting and soothing
her, while the poor little creature clung around her neck and sobbed.
The one real interest in Mrs. Leith’s life was Fleecy, the Angora cat;
and when, at rare intervals, she chose to show off her accomplishments,
and catch the rubber ball her mistress rolled on the floor and bring
it to her, Mrs. Leith would grow gay, and laugh until her cheeks were
flushed with a rosy and becoming color. Mrs. Bryan had sometimes
watched this game, when she would go up with her knitting to Mrs.
Leith’s sitting-room.
She had assisted also at another pastime of Fleecy’s, which was more to
the cat’s fancy, but much less to that of its mistress.
Mrs. Leith had a standing offer among the servants for live mice, which
it afforded Fleecy the highest ecstasy to catch. Always, when the poor
little captives would be brought (and fortunately they seemed hard to
secure, and were not numerous), there would be a sharp conflict in the
mind of Mrs. Leith.
“Oh, I hate to see them frightened and tortured so!” she would say;
“but nothing in the world gives Fleecy such delight, and they don’t
suffer long. Still, I wish Fleecy liked the dead ones as well.”
She would take her darling in her arms, and say: “Mouse, Fleecy,
mouse!” and there was no sort of doubt that the cat understood.
She would prick up her ears and great plumy tail, and quiver with
delighted anticipation. Then, when the trap was opened and the mouse
let loose, Mrs. Leith would clap her hands with delight to see the joy
and activity of her great, indolent pet as she would scamper about,
over chairs and under tables, wildly pursuing her prey. Invariably,
however, when the final moment came, and the piteous little dying
squeaks would be heard, Mrs. Leith would turn away and shut her eyes
tight, and put her fingers in her ears. Sometimes, when Fleecy had
finished her meal, and sat licking her lips, and drowsing in complacent
repletion by the fire, Mrs. Leith would give way to reproaches of both
her pet and herself, and would think of the sufferings of the poor
little victim, till the tears came into her eyes. In spite of that,
however, when another mouse was offered, the same scene was invariably
re-enacted.
She loved this cat with a passionate affection; more, indeed, than
that bestowed by many mothers on their children. She spent hours in
combing and brushing its long fur and tying on various ribbons, and she
often kissed and squeezed it so ardently as to get scratched in return
for her tenderness. She called it by a hundred tender names when this
would happen, and blamed herself for her roughness.
There were certain little oddities in Mrs. Leith’s behavior, now and
then, which Mrs. Bryan was quick to observe. For instance, one day,
when someone remarked that Mr. Manning, the lawyer who was conducting
her divorce case, was a very handsome man, Mrs. Leith smiled to
herself, in a confident, abstracted way that piqued curiosity; and
again, when another man was commended for having very delightful
manners, Mrs. Leith said with the same look on her face:
“Oh, do you think so, really?”
Even Mrs. Bryan, who was not very imaginative, got the idea that the
little creature had some standard in her mind, measured by which she
found these men very small.
Mrs. Leith spent almost her entire time in her own room, sometimes
singing to herself, to a guitar accompaniment, impassioned love songs
that made her tremble from head to foot with emotion, and often break
into uncontrollable weeping. When she was in her not infrequent fits of
despondency, even Fleecy was no comfort to her, and she would sometimes
complain that she slept so contentedly on the rug.
“She doesn’t love me. She only wants to eat and sleep and be
comfortable,” she said one day, in an outburst of despair. “Oh, nobody
loves me, nobody loves me! If God would only let me die!”
“Mauma loves you, honey,” the old woman answered. “God ain’ gwine tek
you ’way from po’ ole Mauma.”
“What’s the use of your loving me, when you don’t love Bertie? You hate
him, and you hate Fleecy, too--you know you do! I don’t want anybody to
love me, if they don’t love them. Oh, I’m so wretched!” and she went
off into low wails of anguish that subsided, as usual, in sleep.
Many a time would old Mauma sit and hold her so, until her arms and
shoulders ached. Small and childish as she was, she was much heavier
than a child, but she had no more than a child’s consideration for the
trouble she gave, and Mauma would no more have reproached her with this
than a mother her baby.
Mrs. Bryan, out of sheer pity, began to feel herself growing attached
to her boarder. She seemed to make, however, but little progress in her
acquaintance, and things remained just as they had begun, until there
came a break in the monotony of their intercourse, caused by the sudden
illness of Fleecy.
Mrs. Leith flew wildly downstairs, one morning, her face pallid with
fear, and dragged the astonished widow up the stairs, exclaiming that
Fleecy was dying. When they got into the room, the big white cat was
lying on the lounge, stretching and jerking its body, and giving every
indication of the vulgar malady of fits. Mauma was bending over the
lounge, but her little mistress flew at her and pulled her away.
“You shan’t touch her,” she cried, angrily, “go away! You have always
hated her, and you’ll be glad if she dies! Oh, Mrs. Bryan, you will
help me! Do you think she is going to die? Oh, Fleecy, Fleecy, my poor
baby, don’t go and leave me! You are all I’ve got in the world.”
The old negress shrugged her shoulders and moved away. It was evident
that the reproaches of her mistress amounted to nothing with her.
Mrs. Bryan, out of pity for the poor child’s grief, went to work to
try to render aid, and, after a little doctoring, Fleecy showed signs
of recovery. The gratitude showered upon Mrs. Bryan was touching to
see. Mrs. Leith, usually so cold and abstracted in her manner, became
suddenly affectionate and effusive. She kissed Mrs. Bryan’s hands and
then her face, and begged her not to leave her. When she was entirely
reassured about Fleecy, and had her darling sleeping on her lap, she
suddenly caught hold of Mrs. Bryan’s hand and said, impulsively:
“You are good and kind. You have a tender, loving heart. I’d like to
talk to you, and tell you about my troubles. May I? Oh, if you knew how
unhappy I am, and how no one understands and sympathizes with me!”
Mrs. Bryan moved closer to her, and begged her to speak, assuring her,
beforehand, of the sympathy which showed plainly in her face.
Then, still holding the big cat on her lap, and touching it with
tenderness from time to time, Mrs. Leith told her story.
A singular one it was, and Mrs. Bryan, as she listened, could not
altogether wonder at the friends who had refused to sympathize with
Mrs. Leith in her position.
The unhappy young wife, who was in Belton for the sole purpose of
getting a divorce from her husband, began her narration by describing
him in terms of glowing enthusiasm, as the handsomest, the cleverest,
the most charming, gifted, lovable being that mind could conceive. “You
think Mr. Manning is handsome,” she said, “and you thought that other
man’s manners were charming! If you could see Bertie! It makes me cross
to hear Mr. Manning and those other people talked about. Why, Bertie
is like what you would imagine a great big angel to be, if it hadn’t
any wings and wore clothes. He’s so tall and strong that he can lift
me about like a baby, and never get tired in his shoulders, as Mauma
does after the least little while. He’s got a figure more beautiful
than any statue that was ever made, and hair that curls in little shiny
rings the moment he lets it get long enough. Oh, once, in Italy,” she
broke off, as a sudden memory came to her, “I persuaded him to let it
grow. We were in the country, where no one knew us, and it came down
all about his neck. It was so funny. We used to row a great deal, and,
though he wore a big peasant’s hat, he got brown as a berry, but his
neck was always fair, where his hair hung over it. I used to say it
was the only place left for me to kiss, because the sun had made him
brown as an Italian, so I wouldn’t kiss him, except there. I always
said I felt as if I were kissing some Italian woman’s husband. O Mrs.
Bryan,” she said, in a choking voice of pain, “we were so happy then!
He loved me so! He never got tired of me, and couldn’t bear me out of
his sight. I don’t see why I didn’t die then. If joy could kill, I
would have.” She paused a second, and then went on, with a return to
her former tone: “You would have to see him before you could understand
how poor all other men seem after him. His voice is like a great strong
lark’s, that can sing and fly together. He used to sing until he could
be heard for miles, all the time that he was rowing me over those
tremendous waves that shook our little boat about like a chip. I never
dared to go with any one else, but with him I never had a fear. I often
used to think we would be drowned, but I would laugh at the idea, and
tell him it would be only to wake up in another heaven with him. Then
you were talking about manners! Oh, you can’t have any idea of Bertie’s
manners, and I couldn’t give you any! He never goes into a crowded room
that everybody doesn’t look at him and speak about him. He seems to
know, at once, the ways of every country, and never makes a mistake.
And gentle! why, he’s gentler than any woman that ever lived! Children
always love him, and so do animals. Fleecy loves him fifty times better
than she does me, and you ought to see how he loves Fleecy. I thought
it was so good of him to let me keep my dear kitty. I offered to give
her up, but he would not let me. I know she’d be happier with Bertie,
and I did offer, but when he said no, I was glad, for Fleecy was all I
had left. If Bertie had been here to-night, he would have nursed and
doctored her just as you did, instead of getting cross like Mauma.
Sometimes I hate Mauma!” she broke off with a vicious snap of her
little regular teeth.
For a long time Mrs. Leith talked on, dwelling on the attractions and
perfections of the man from whom she was seeking a divorce, until
finally her companion, unable to keep down her curiosity any longer,
said abruptly:
“I can’t help asking, Mrs. Leith, why you want to be divorced from such
a man as that.”
“Want to be!” she exclaimed, rising to her feet, and forgetting even
Fleecy, who fell to the floor. “Want to be? Why, I should think you
could see that it is killing me! Do I look like a person doing what she
wants to do? If you had seen me a year ago you would not say that.
Look at my poor thin arms,” pulling up her sleeve. “They used to be so
plump and round that Bertie never tired of kissing and praising them.
And look at my face, so white and pasty, when I used to have a color
like a rose! Oh, I’m glad he can’t see me now! I’m glad he doesn’t know
how I have changed!”
“Then why do you get the divorce?” Mrs. Bryan couldn’t help saying.
“You are doing it, and not he--aren’t you? What makes you do it?”
“Because he wants it,” she answered with a look of defiance. She
expected nothing else but that Mrs. Bryan would hold with all her other
friends, and she wanted to show her, at once, that she did not care.
“And why does he want it?”
“Because he is tired of me--simply that. No one but me can make
allowances for him, and I don’t expect it. I know you are shocked
and indignant and all that, but you may save yourself the trouble. It
is terrible and unfortunate for me, of course, but I can see, if no
one else does, that it is not unnatural. He is highly cultivated and
intellectual, and I am not a companion for him. It was long before I
would acknowledge it, but I have looked it in the face at last. I was
never worthy of him--but oh, while he loved me, it didn’t matter in the
least that I was so inferior to him! And he did love me--he did! he
did!--as much as he can love anybody--as much, I do believe, as he will
ever love that beautiful, wicked woman he is going to marry.”
“Going to marry!” exclaimed Mrs. Bryan, almost breathless, but the
little creature who stood near by with her cold hands pressed against
her burning cheeks, and her excited eyes fixed on the fire, paid no
attention to the reflection of astonishment in her voice.
“Yes, going to marry,” she said. “That is why he was so determined
to have the divorce. I knew he had begun to weary of me; I knew I had
nothing in me to keep the love of a great creature such as he is, but
I think he would have stayed with me and let me go on loving him, at
least, if he had not seen that widow, who made up her mind to have him
the moment she laid eyes on him, and saw how far above other men he
was.”
“But you could have prevented it! He couldn’t have got the divorce from
you. Didn’t he know that?”
“Of course he knew it,” she answered, in the petulant tone she often
used to Mauma. “He’s a man thoroughly informed on every subject. He
knew he could never get it, and that the only way was for me to do it.
He made a great mistake, though, and gave himself and me six miserable
months of suffering.”
“How do you mean?”
“He tried to force me to sue for a divorce,” she said; “and used every
means that he could think of. My friends were wildly excited, and
demanded that I should get the divorce, but they might as well have
talked into the air. I had but one answer: ‘I love him--love him--do
you understand? And there is nothing love cannot forgive!’”
“Love--yes,” retorted Mrs. Bryan, now no longer able to control her
indignation. “Love is all very well--but where is your pride?”
The tiny creature standing on the rug drew herself to her full height,
and looked her in the eyes, as she answered:
“I have none, where he is concerned.”
“Merciful goodness!” exclaimed the other, with a deep-drawn breath.
“Then if you haven’t any pride, what induced you to agree to the
divorce?”
“Love,” said the other, solemnly. “If he had understood that--if he had
made that appeal at first--he might have had his way in the beginning,
instead of the end. If, instead of subjecting me to all the shame and
outrage that he made me endure, he had done at first what he did at
last, he might have spared himself as well as me much suffering.”
“You don’t mean to say you consented because----”
“Because I loved him,” she replied, in a voice beginning to shake, as
her eyes began to fill. “Oh, why do I talk about it? No one will ever
understand. You are all alike, and blame me, because you don’t know
what it is to love, as I love him. He came to me at last, after those
awful months, and when he came into the room and shut the door behind
him, and I looked up and feasted my hungry eyes on the sight of him,
the love that shook my breast then was a thing you other women don’t
know. He called my name. ‘Mimi,’ he said, ‘you have it in your power to
make me happy, if you will.’ And I said: ‘I will do anything you ask.’
He came then and took me in his arms and told me he wanted me to get
the divorce. He said he was selfish and vile and unworthy of me, that
I would be happier without him, and a great deal more such trash, and
I told him I had but one desire in the world, and that was to make him
happy, and that I would give him the divorce. With those arms around
me, and those eyes looking into mine beseechingly, there was nothing
I could have denied him--only I had rather it had been the last drop
of my blood he had asked for. That was not what he wanted, though, and
I gave him what he did want. I asked him if it would not please him
better if I were dead, and if he had said yes, I would have killed
myself. But he said no, that would make him wretched; he only wanted me
to let him be free, and to be free myself to marry some good man who
would make me happy as I deserved. He knows that woman isn’t good; he
told me so himself--at least he said she was utterly different from me,
and so much more fit to be the companion of a poor devil like himself.
I don’t know how it is,” she broke off, passionately, “but if being a
devil could make him love me again, I’d be a devil, too, if I could!
Of course you’re shocked, but I would! Well, no matter what happens,
I’ve got that evening to remember. He had not been pleased with me for
so long, that it was like heaven on earth to have him as he was then.
He let me sit on his lap, and hold him tight around the neck, and kiss
his curls and his eyes and his darling mouth. You needn’t look so
horrified,” she said with sudden resentment, “he was my husband still,
and he’s my husband now, and I’m proud and happy I can say it a little
while longer.”
At the last words her voice gave way completely, and she threw herself
down on the lounge and burst into violent sobbing. It was piteous to
see her, and Mrs. Bryan, in spite of the tempestuous indignation this
recital had aroused in her, felt her heart grow soft with sympathy as
she looked at the little figure, no bigger than that of many a child
of fourteen, shaken with great sobs of anguish--the deep and incurable
anguish of a loving and despised wife.
She did her best to comfort her, and forced herself not to criticise,
knowing intuitively what the poor little thing must have already
suffered at the hands of her friends.
She found, however, that the task of comforting her was an impossible
one. All she could do was to soothe and speak lovingly to her, and to
avoid abuse of her husband; she felt it would be the cause of hopeless
estrangement between them, if she allowed herself to express her true
opinion of him.
At last, when Mrs. Leith had consented to be covered up, and made
physically comfortable, and had drunk a cup of tea, Mrs. Bryan left her
to try to get a nap. She had Fleecy in her arms, with her head peeping
out above the coverlet, and had laid her cheek against it with a degree
of affectionateness that she seemed unable to show to the human beings
about her.
“It is only because Bertie loves Fleecy, and she loves him,” said the
little creature, answering the unspoken thought which she had read in
Mrs. Bryan’s eyes.
As the latter passed through the outer room, where Mauma was sitting at
the window running the narrow ribbons in and out of the eyelet holes in
Mrs. Leith’s dainty French underclothes, she stopped and looked at the
old woman inquiringly.
“She bin tell you all ’bout it, has she?” said Mauma, looking up over
the top of her brass-rimmed spectacles. “I knowed how it gwine be, soon
ez I see you done tech her heart, by nussing o’ that black varmint.”
(It always seemed to give Mauma great satisfaction to apply the word
“black” to Fleecy’s creamy whiteness.) “I’m glad you kin mek out to
show some likin’ fur de dirty thing, en to please Missy I’d do it
myself, ef I could. De Lord knows ef anythin’ kin please her, I want
her to have it, but it’s more’n I got sense to do, to ack like I love
dem two darlin’s o’ hern.”
“Then you don’t like Mr. Leith, either?” said Mrs. Bryan, tentatively.
“Like him? Nor’m, I don’t like him, I don’ like him for nuthin’--a
good-for nuthin’, low-life raskill, as ain’t worthy to tech Missy’s
feet! Thar ain’ but one thing in the worl’ I won’ do for Missy, en
that’s it! I ain’ gwine say I like him, kus I pintedly don’t, en I’d
wring he neck same ez a chicken’s, ef I had de chance. Lor’, mistiss,
you don’ know. You don’ know nuthin’! De sights he is tuk dat air
little angel-chile through is enough to tun yer hyar right white.
’Tain’ no kine o’ shame en meanness he ain’ bin heap up on her--a
puppus to mek her git de divoce. En you think she’d do it? Nor’m, she
wouldn’! She bin quoil wid ev’ry fr’en’ she got in de worl’ ’long o’
that! She ain’ ’low nobody to say nuthin’ gin’ him. All she say is,
‘When you love, you kin furgive anything.’ He mought ’a’ kep’ on, twel
jedgmen’-day, en he mought ’a’ drug her through de streets by de hyar
o’ her hade, en she wouldn’ nuver ’a’ uttered a complaint. De warn’ but
one way he could ’a’ got her to git dat divoce, en he jis dat mean en
sneakin’ dat he bin foun’ dat way out. He come to her at las’ wid all
he impident, sweet ways, en he jiss coax en beg for it. I knowed den
’twas all up. She ain’ nuver been able to say no to him in her life, en
she couldn’t say it den. So she tell him. Yes, she do it fur de sake o’
makin’ him happy en pleased wid her. She sont right off fur de lawyer,
en made all de ’rangements. I hear him tell her myself dat ’twas easy
’nough to do. Yes, Lord! I reckon ’twas easy, wid dem scan’lous doin’s
o’ his! Lor’, honey, you don’ know,” and the old woman ended, shaking
her head with an air of deep mystery.
The ice once broken between Mrs. Bryan and her boarder, frequent
confidences followed, but it was always the same thing, with more
or less detail, as to the charm, superiority and lovableness of the
husband she had renounced, or was now making it her business in life
to renounce. It was evident to Mrs. Bryan that the days passed all too
quickly for Mr. Manning’s client, and that she clung desperately to the
mere form that retained him as her husband.
In the monotonous regularity of her life at Belton she began to improve
in health and looks. Mauma attributed it to the fact that she no
longer had the torment of discussions and protest from her relatives
and friends, who had one and all abandoned her to her own devices. So
indomitable a will in so slight a body, it was certainly strange to
find. After the promise to her husband she had never faltered, though
the idea of the divorce was evidently terrible to her beyond words.
She told Mrs. Bryan that she was twenty years of age, but it was hard
to believe it. She looked a mere slip of a girl, and was made with
such exquisite perfection, that that fact seemed to make her look
smaller than she really was. Every one who saw her was fascinated
by her beauty, but she was cold to all overtures of friendship, and
seemed to have exhausted on her husband and Fleecy all her capacity for
affection. She still cared scrupulously for her toilet, though she wore
only the one or two dark dresses in which she had appeared on first
coming to Belton. Her mother had been a Creole, and from this source
she had got her little French name, Mimi, which she told Mrs. Bryan her
husband usually abbreviated into “Mim.” There was also a trace of her
French origin in her utterance--a certain peculiarity of the _r_--that
gave her a sort of unusualness which added to her charm.
One day, the morning of which had passed in the usual uneventful way,
Mrs. Leith was sitting with Mrs. Bryan in the latter’s sitting-room,
when a telegram was brought in. Mrs. Bryan took it, and then handed it
to her companion, to whom it was addressed. As she read it she sprang
to her feet and uttered a cry--unmistakably a cry of joy.
“Read it--he is coming!” she said.
Mrs. Bryan put on her glasses and read these words:
“Must see you on important business. Arrive at eight o’clock.
“B.”
“I must go--I must get ready. Where is Mauma? Mauma!” she called as she
hurried from the room, and ran up the stairs.
Half an hour later Mrs. Bryan went to her boarder’s room. She found
everything in confusion. Trunks stood open in the middle of the floor;
Eastern stuffs were scattered all about; exquisite dresses were lying
in heaps, and poor old Mauma, with protest written on the very curve of
her back, was diving into a trunk, and tranquilly accepting a scolding
for not knowing where some indispensable article was.
“I am going to hang these stuffs about the room, and get out a few
ornaments,” Mrs. Leith explained. “I won’t hurt anything, but Bertie
does so love to see things look ‘homey and comfy,’ as he calls it.
Will you send someone to the florist, and tell him I want lots of
flowers--all that he has? Oh, Mrs. Bryan, do tell me--honestly and
candidly--which of these dresses I look best in. You see, I can’t tell
just what humor he will be in. Sometimes he likes to see me dressed as
richly as possible--and then again I can’t be too simple. Oh, yes, I
forgot--I know what I’ll wear! I’d rather he’d see me very simple--for
I can imagine he’s seen plenty of magnificence lately. I’ll wear just
this little white _crêpe_ gown--one he used to love. Perhaps he’ll
remember he praised it once, and be pleased at my remembering. Oh,
Mauma, where’s the girdle? You don’t seem to know where anything is,
and if you’ve lost that girdle--” she stopped, with sudden tears of
vexation in her eyes.
Mauma came toward her with the girdle in her hand. She darted forward
to take it, and gave the old woman a sudden hug, as she said, coaxingly:
“Don’t be cross with me to-day, Mauma--please don’t. I’m so happy.
You ought to be glad your child is going to be happy once more in her
life. He’s sure to be pleased with me, for I’ve done every little thing
he wants. Oh, to think I’m going to see him once more!” Then, with a
sudden change of tone, she added: “Don’t be vexed with me if I’m cross
and rude to-day. I’m so wild with joy that I can’t stand the suggestion
of anything else. And oh, Mrs. Bryan, if you saw him, you would not
wonder. Promise me this,” she cried, seizing the other woman by both
hands with intense earnestness, “promise me that you will go to the
door, yourself, when he comes, and that you’ll just say some little
thing to him, so as to make him speak. I want you to hear his voice,
and get some idea of his manner. Then, after that, if you talk about
Mr. Manning or Mr. Anybody else, I’ll promise to listen to you!”
Mrs. Bryan agreed to do as she wished, and went away more puzzled and
astonished at the ways of her boarder than she had been yet.
Shortly before eight o’clock that evening, Mrs. Bryan, dressed in her
neatest black dress, and wearing her freshest cap, went up to Mrs.
Leith’s sitting-room. When she entered, she hardly recognized it, and
felt as if she must be in a dream. Wax candles, with pink shades, were
set about in groups; the walls and furniture were decorated with rich
embroideries and Eastern stuffs, and beautiful flowers were massed
together on tables and mantel. Fleecy had been freshly washed, and
was ornamented with a gay pink ribbon tied in an enormous bow at the
back of her neck, suspending a little gold bell, which tinkled as she
walked about with her great tail in the air. A glowing wood fire burned
on the hearth, and on a white fur rug, which had been spread in front
of it, stood Mimi. The metamorphosis in her was quite as startling as
in the room. She was dressed in a scant and clinging little gown of
white _crêpe_, half-low about the throat, from which a fall of creamy
lace hung down. It was loosely gathered in about the waist by a silver
girdle, and had great flowing sleeves, from which her little hands came
out divested of all ornament, except her wedding-ring. Her tiny feet
were cased in white slippers worked with silver. But the wonder of it
all was her face. It was nothing short of radiantly beautiful this
evening. Her eyes sparkled and her cheeks were pink as roses. Her hair,
instead of being twisted, as usual, into a decorous knot, was falling
free about her shoulders. It was not long, but curly and fluffy as a
child’s.
“You look about twelve years old,” was Mrs. Bryan’s comment.
“Bertie always said so, when I wore my hair like this,” she answered,
delightedly. “He loves it this way best of all. I was so afraid I’d
look too old to do it; but if I have grown old and thin, thank the
_good_ God, it doesn’t show to-night!”
It was the first expression of religious fervor that Mrs. Bryan had
ever heard her use; but as she said this, she clasped her hands and
looked upward in a rapture of thanksgiving, the sincerity of which
could not be doubted.
“Fleecy, do you know who’s coming?” she exclaimed, suddenly catching
the big cat up, and looking into its face as if it had been a child’s.
“Master, Fleecy--master!”
Fleecy certainly pricked up her ears, seeing which her mistress covered
her with rapturous kisses, while Mrs. Bryan had more than a suspicion
that Fleecy mistook the word “master” for “mouse;” but this she would
not have dared to suggest.
“Isn’t it after eight?” said Mimi, looking at the little clock on the
mantel. “Oh, if he shouldn’t come!” And at the thought of this the
color faded from her cheeks. It came bounding back, however, the next
minute, as the door-bell was heard.
When Mrs. Bryan reached the landing at the head of the stairs, she
found Mauma leaning over the railing and looking into the hall below.
“Is it Mr. Leith?” Mrs. Bryan asked.
“Yes, it’s him--the ugly buzzard!” answered Mauma, with intense disgust.
It was impossible not to smile at this comment as applied to the man
whom Mrs. Bryan now went forward to meet. She acknowledged at once, as
she saw him shaking the thick snowflakes from the collar of his coat,
that his beauty had not been exaggerated. He was a magnificent, blond
creature, with youthful strength and health in every line of figure
and face. A ready smile of good humor rose to his lips, as he took off
his hat with a splendid grace and made Mrs. Bryan a bow.
“Mrs. Leith is expecting you,” she said. “Will you go up to her
sitting-room?”
“Yes, thanks, when I have got rid of some of this snow. I must ask your
forgiveness for bringing so much of it into your house. It’s clean,
however, and I hope will do no harm.”
As he spoke he was taking off his long, fur-lined coat, and as he threw
in on a chair, he looked at her again and smiled.
“Oh, I’ll have it brushed for you!” she said, and then stopped short,
provoked at having been so civil to the man whom she had intended to
treat with cold contempt.
“Walk upstairs,” she said, more distantly. “I’ll go with you, and show
you the room.”
He gave her the smallest of bows, but it gave the old widow an
agreeable sense of homage. As he preceded her up the stairs, he said,
in a voice no one could fail to find delightful:
“What a fascinating old house you have!”
The compliment was agreeable to her, but at the same time she felt a
certain indignation that he could be so unmoved at the prospect of an
interview which had put that poor child, waiting yonder, in a fever of
agitation.
Mauma had disappeared from the landing, and when Mrs. Bryan had pointed
out the door, she turned and went downstairs. She heard his quick
knock, and then the turn of the knob. As she looked back, he was just
disappearing and closing the door after him.
In the room beyond that closed door intense silence reigned for some
moments. Leith had come no farther than across the threshold, and stood
with his back against the door. Then, undoubtedly, Fleecy recognized
him, for she came forward and began to rub against his legs, making a
purring noise distinctly audible in the silent room. Fleecy’s mistress
stood on the rug intensely still, with her hands clasped tight together.
Presently the man spoke, in his very gentlest voice.
“Fleecy is glad to see me,” he said in a tone of tender reproach.
“And so am I! Oh, Bertie!” she gasped, catching her breath with a sort
of sob.
“Are you?” he said, and, standing where he was, he held out his arms.
In a second she had flown to them, and the great man had lifted her off
her feet and caught her to his breast and held her there. She clung
with both arms around his neck, and laid her face in the hollow of his
throat. For a few seconds neither spoke, and then he put her down,
still holding one of her hands, and led her so across the room.
“So you are glad to see me, Mim!” he said, standing on the hearth-rug,
and taking her little face between his large, beautiful hands.
“I worship you,” she said, looking up at him, through two big tears.
“So you’re just as big a goose as ever!” he said, almost in a whisper,
still holding her so and looking down at her. “I suppose I ought to be
sorry, but do you think I am? Well, I’m not. I’m glad!” Impossible to
describe the winning charm of this man’s manner, or the tender beauty
of his face as he said this. “But stand off and let me look at you,”
he went on, loosing her face to take her two hands and hold her at
arm’s length by them. “Who said you were losing your beauty? It’s not
so. You’re absolutely bewitching. I doubt--now I’m going to tell you
something that will make you happy for a year--I seriously doubt, upon
my word of honor, whether any one else in the world is so pretty.”
She smiled until her cheeks dimpled, but the next moment the tears had
sprung to her eyes.
“What does it matter,” she said, “if you don’t care?”
“Don’t I, though? I can tell you I do care tremendously. Do you
suppose, after all that’s been between you and me, that I shall lose
interest in you and never care what happens to you in the future?”
“But if we never see each other----”
“Yes, I know,” he said hurriedly. “That’s pretty hard, poor baby! But
don’t think, in spite of all that’s happened, don’t think I’m not
sorry for you. Sometimes, when I think about how unhappy and lonely
you are, it drives me wild. I have to go to the theatre, or play polo,
or do something to make me forget it. There’s one thought that always
consoles me, however, and that is that you’ll be well rid of such a
scamp as I am. I’ve been a brute to you, Mimi, and one thing that
brought me here was to ask you to forgive me.”
“There’s nothing to forgive, Bertie; I’ve never had one hard feeling
toward you,” she answered in a low and resolutely steadied voice.
“That’s because you’re an angel on earth, not because I haven’t treated
you abominably. I know it and confess it freely, but I hate to think
about it.”
“Then don’t think about it, our last evening together.”
The words almost choked her, and he saw her throat swell; he saw, too,
that she was making a tremendous effort not to cry. They had sat down
in two chairs in front of the fire, and were looking away from each
other. After a short silence the man turned toward her, compelling her,
by his persistent gaze, to turn her eyes to his. Then he said:
“It isn’t natural for us to sit together like this. You used to--” He
smiled and laid his hand on his knee. She came at once and took the
seat, and when she had done so, he lifted one of her arms and laid it
around his neck. Then he laughed--a low laugh of appreciative amusement.
“I’m sure I don’t know whether this is proper or not,” he said, “and I
suppose you can’t inform me. By Jove, this _is_ a situation! Come, Mim,
I always said you had no sense of humor, but you can’t help seeing the
fun of this!”
The poor child tried her best to smile, but perhaps his accusation of
her was not unjust, for the effect was a complete failure, and she had
to hide her face against his neck to conceal the fact that tears had
come instead of smiles.
“Don’t try to make me laugh,” she said; “if you do, I’m sure to cry,
and I do not want to do that. It always made you angry to see me cry.”
“All right, then, we won’t laugh or cry either. We’ll just be sensible,
and you’ll show me what a little brick you really are. You’ve acted
in a way already to win a tremendous respect from me. You can just
remember that. I don’t know another woman who’d have behaved as well.
And, now, let me show you something. Don’t move, it’s just here in my
pocket. I had such a sweet idea the other day. You see,” he went on,
as she sat up to look, “I knew you’d feel badly about leaving off the
ring, when--when the time comes, so I’ve got you another--not plain
gold, of course, but one you can always wear, in place of it, for my
sake. Isn’t it a little beauty?” He opened his hand and showed her a
ring set with two very perfect pearls, one white and one black.
“The white’s for you, and the black’s for me,” he said, laughing, as
he slipped it on her finger. “I knew it would fit,” he went on, “for
_I_ knew what a mite of a hand it was for! The man thought it was for a
child.”
“Oh, how dear, how lovely, how beautiful it is!” said Mimi. “How good
you were to think of it! But, Bertie--” She hesitated a moment, and
then said: “You won’t be vexed if I ask you something, will you?”
“I don’t know,” he said, with a slight frown. “I don’t like questions.”
“Oh, I know that--and I’m not going to inquire into anything! You
needn’t be afraid of that. All I want is to know whether--when the time
comes--I’ll be obliged to take off my wedding-ring? Couldn’t I wear it
still?”
She looked into his face with the most earnest beseeching, and
evidently with intense anxiety as to his reply.
“Oh, I suppose you could--if you wanted to! I don’t see why not. I
never heard of anyone’s doing it, but of course you can keep it on,
if it will be a comfort to you. It’s a natural enough wish. Precious
thing! I declare it’s perfectly touching!”
“Oh, thank you, Bertie, _thank_ you!” she cried, throwing her arms
around his neck again. “You don’t know what a load you have taken off
my mind!”
“Poor little Mim,” he said, gently stroking her hair, “how you can care
as you do about such a devil of a scamp as I am is the mystery!”
“You are not--you are good,” she said brokenly, “and Bertie, there is
just one more thing I want to ask you to let me keep. If you’ll do
that, I’ll be satisfied.”
“What is it?”
She put her lips to his ear and whispered: “Your name.”
He did not answer immediately, and turning to look in his face, she saw
that he looked perplexed.
“Upon my word, my darling child, I don’t know how that is, but if it
can be arranged, of course I am willing,” he said.
“Oh, Bertie, Bertie! How can I ever thank you? I was almost afraid to
ask it--but it would break my heart to have to give up your name.”
“There, then, precious child, you shan’t!” he said, soothingly. “I’ll
talk to the lawyers about it at once. There are one or two business
points on which I have to speak to you--things you will have to give
your consent to. That is what I came chiefly to see about--at least
that was my excuse, though I wanted to see you, too, and to be sure you
had forgiven me. You do believe I’m sorry for all the pain I’ve caused
you--don’t you, darling?”
“Oh, I know you are! I know you wouldn’t have done it willingly. It
was only a misunderstanding. If you had come to me at first and told
me what you wanted me to do, I would have done it. It’s the same thing
now. There is no need to consult me. All you have to do is to tell me
what it is you want me to consent to.”
“We can get through with it very quickly, then,” he said. “I might have
known how good and generous you would be; but you see I can’t help
making the mistake of thinking you are like the rest of the world,
which you are not!”
He explained to her briefly, then, the points on which he had wanted to
confer with her, but found, as she had said, that he had her consent to
everything he wished beforehand.
“Oh, don’t let’s spoil our last, last time, by talking about things
like that!” she said, presently. “Let’s take Fleecy up between us and
be happy this once, as we used to be all the time.”
So Fleecy was called and put in the old familiar place, where she
nestled snugly down, and purred and dozed in absolute contentment.
Both of them caressed the cat in silence for a moment, the tiny hand
following the big one up and down its back. Presently Mimi lifted her
hand, and said:
“Kiss my ring, please. I should always be regretting it, if I didn’t
make you do that.” He kissed it, and the hand too, holding it against
his lips a full moment, so that she felt his breath upon it.
Presently she spoke again: “Have I been good?” she said. “Are you
pleased with me, Bertie? Do tell me so, if you are. I want to remember
that you said so.”
“Pleased with you, my good little darling? Why, how could I fail to be?
The more I see of your goodness, the more convinced I am that I was
never worthy of you, and my hope is that, once freed of me, you will
meet some man who will deserve you better and make you happy.”
She put her little hand over his mouth, so that the last words were
stifled, as she said to him, in a voice of keen reproach:
“Bertie, how can you, how dare you think of such a thing? It is the one
thing on earth I couldn’t forgive you for. I can forgive utterly and
freely your getting tired of me, and wanting a cleverer, handsomer,
more amusing wife. It is nothing but natural that you should, and I
can see it. But, oh, my dear darling, don’t believe that I could ever
love any one else! If I thought you would believe that of me, I don’t
believe I could help killing myself. Promise me, Bertie; give me your
word, you’ll never say such a thing as that again.”
“I promise, child; I promise,” he replied, half-awed by the intensity
of her reproach. “You are a mystery to me, and I’m a mystery to myself,
to have won such love.”
“You didn’t win it,” she said; “you just got it, by being what you are.”
“But no one else has ever given it to me--or ever will,” he added, with
conviction.
“Ah!” she said, with a deep, indrawn breath, sitting upright on his
knee, and clasping her hands tight together, “you will find that out,
Bertie! I know no one will ever love you as I do.”
“I know it too,” he said, a look of despondency suddenly crossing his
face.
“Bertie,” she said, timidly. “Don’t be angry with me if I ask you
something.”
“I warned you not to ask questions.”
“Yes, I know, but I’m not going to do anything to bother you. I promise
that, and you know I always keep my word. Only, if you would tell me
about things, it would be easier than hearing it from others, or from
the papers. But suppose,” she was watching his face intently, to see if
its expression permitted her to go on, “suppose,” she said, timidly,
“you were to grow tired of her, and wanted her, for your sake, to give
you your freedom. Do you think she’d love you enough to do what I have
done?”
A curious smile came suddenly to his face:
“Do what you have done?” he said. “I think she’d probe for my heart
with a polished stiletto sooner, or put a spider into my dumpling!”
“Then she loves herself better than she loves you--and I love you
better than I love myself!”
She said these words with an infinite satisfaction, and the expression
of her face was triumphant--almost happy. Her cheeks had still that
feverish color, and her eyes were wide and brilliant, as they rested
with a hungry, expectant look upon his face. He, meantime, sat silent,
looking into the fire. When, at last, compelled by her steady gaze, he
looked at her, there was such dumb, intense entreaty in her eyes as he
could not misunderstand.
“Mim,” he said, in a whisper, “do you want me to kiss you?”
The tears sprang to her eyes. “If you wouldn’t mind--just once,” she
answered.
Their lips met in a long kiss. As he drew backward from it, he put her
gently from him, and rose to his feet.
“I must say good-by, now,” he said. “It’s time for me to go.”
She gave a little cry, and looked at him with a half-distracted gaze,
as she said, excitedly:
“Oh, not yet--not yet, surely! I thought you would stay for hours. Oh,
Bertie, don’t leave me yet--just as we were so happy! My heart will
break!”
She turned away with an instinct to conceal from him the agony in her
face. He saw her wring her little hands together, and then put them
to her lips and bite them, and he knew she was making an effort, for
his sake, not to cry. But it was worse still to see this courageous
struggle with agony, and his one thought was to get away.
“Bertie,” she said, suddenly turning toward him her pallid and
terrified face, “I’m going to bear it if I can. I’ll do my very best,
but if--if I find I can’t--if it is going to be like this always, and I
can’t bear it, would you mind it very much--do you think you could keep
from letting it make you unhappy--if I couldn’t bear it--and killed
myself?”
“Mind it! What are you talking about! Why, what do you think I’m made
of? I should never have another happy moment as long as I lived. You
would simply make me a miserable man for life.”
“Then I won’t do it!” she said, hurriedly. “Indeed, indeed, I won’t!
Don’t look at me reproachfully, darling! Forget that I ever thought of
that. It was only a moment’s frenzy, and it doesn’t really amount to
anything. I give you my promise not to do it, and I know you’ll believe
in that.”
“Lord, what a relief!” he said, with a great sigh. “You frightened
me out of my wits; but of course you didn’t mean it. Now that you’ve
promised, I feel safe. You are too good and tender to give me such a
life-long sorrow as that would be. You never could have done it; but it
gave me a scare. You don’t believe it now, but once it is inevitable,
you’ll get over this extreme feeling about me, and be happy.”
“O Bertie,” she said, timidly, “I don’t want to make you angry,
dearest, but if you only _wouldn’t_ say that! I’m willing for you to
think of me as happy, if it would comfort you, but not by losing one
atom of my love for you. Try to think of it this way--that I’m happy
because I love you, so that to have given you the wish of your heart
makes me happier than to have the wish of my heart. Will you try?”
“Of course I will, darling. I’ll do anything on earth I can to please
you. I’m sure I ought. But now,” glancing at the clock, “I must really
be going. I’m obliged to get back on to-night’s train.”
It was no use struggling any longer. She had no strength for the
effort. With the weakness of utter surrender, she threw herself into
his arms and sobbed.
“There, there, baby,” he said, soothingly. “Don’t cry so, darling.
Why, there’s lots and lots to make you happy in life yet. I’ll always
remember you as the noblest and most unselfish little woman that ever
lived; you’ll have that to comfort you. Don’t let it make you so
wretched, precious child. You and Fleecy will have many merry days
together yet.”
At the mention of Fleecy, who was contentedly napping on the rug, the
poor little creature lifted her head, to say, brokenly:
“Would you like to have Fleecy? You always loved her so. I meant to
tell you you could have her if you wanted. I could give her up, if it
would please you.”
“No, my precious, no--not for the world. I wouldn’t take her from you,
for anything. How could you think I’d be so selfish?”
“Thank you, darling,” she sobbed, with her face hidden on his shoulder.
“I wouldn’t care so very much to keep her, but that you gave her to me,
and loved her, and she was always with us when we were so happy. Oh,
Bertie, darling, beloved, precious treasure of my heart, you’ve been so
good to me! You made me, for two years, the happiest creature outside
of heaven. If it’s any comfort to you, you can think of that.”
“Of course it will be a comfort to me, darling--and, by Jove, I expect
to need something to comfort me, when I think of you, and how unhappy
I’ve made you!”
“Don’t reproach yourself. You couldn’t help it. I always knew there was
nothing in me to keep the love of such a man as you. Oh, Bertie, my
husband!” she cried, still clasping his neck, but drawing back that she
might look into his eyes, “let me call you by that name once more, for
you are still my husband--mine, mine, mine, and no one else’s! Call me
‘wife’ once more, my darling, before we say good-bye.”
“My little wife, my little wife--my good, true, noble, unselfish,
little wife,” he said, while her arms clasped him tighter and tighter,
and a shiver shook her little frame from head to foot.
The man’s face, too, was seamed with the lines of pain and
disturbance. He looked at the clock and at the door, with the evident
desire to escape; but he could not force her from him while she cried
and clung like this.
“I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” he said, suddenly, as a thought struck
him, “I’ll walk you, as I used to do, when you got nervous and unhappy.
It always made you quiet--do you remember?”
“Oh, you’re so good to me, darling!” she murmured, as he took her up in
his arms like a child, and began to walk up and down the room with her.
He was magnificently strong, and she was light and little, so that it
was no great tax upon him. Fleecy, with her plumy tail held high and
her little gold bell tinkling, joined them, and walked at their side,
up and down, up and down. Now and then Mimi would murmur some words of
tenderness and gratitude, and he would answer with some soothing caress.
The faculty of humor was not lacking in his composition, at least,
for, in spite of the agitated pain he had just been suffering, when he
caught sight of the little procession in passing a mirror, he smiled
at his own reflection. The smile was quickly suppressed, however, as
he went on speaking to her soothingly. It had--as he had predicted--a
marvellous effect. The little thing ceased sobbing, and her breast grew
quiet, after its excited heavings.
At last, the clock struck, and he took her to the lounge and laid her
down. “I have not another moment,” he said, “you will let me go now,
like the good, brave darling you are?”
“Yes,” she whispered, in a faint, unnatural tone. “I’ll let you go now.
Tell me good-by once more.”
“Good-by, my darling wife.”
“Good-by, my darling husband.”
She put her lips up, and he pressed a quick kiss on them, and was gone.
On the landing outside Mauma was sitting, erect and repellent, in
every line of figure and face.
“Go to your mistress, Mauma,” said Leith. “I trust you to look after
her and take good care of her.”
“Yes--bress de Lord, I say!” replied Mauma, with cold contempt. “It’s a
pow’ful good thing nobody don’ trus’ _you_--fur that or nuthin’! Dee’d
find deeselves mistaken, ef dee did.”
With a smile of amusement, the man shook off the sadness that had clung
to him, in coming from that room, and said in a gay, though carefully
lowered tone:
“You’re just the same as ever, Mauma, I see! Well, I’m glad of it. I
wouldn’t have you changed for anything. I always told your mistress
that you were the one woman I had found it impossible to win! So, you
see, you have a unique charm for me.”
“I hope to de Lord some woman’ll pay you back fur what you’se bin mek
dat angil-child suffer,” was the solemn response, “en you mark my
words--de day’s gwine come!”
With his unfailing instinct to escape from what was unpleasant, Leith
hurried down the stairs, threw on his coat, and let himself out into
the street. As the door closed behind him, Mauma, bending over her
little mistress, found that she was in a dead faint.
Restoratives were used, and she at last recovered consciousness; but
that evening’s ordeal was followed by a long attack of fever, in which
death, after promising relief for a while, withdrew and left her to her
life of misery.
“There is one blessing in this illness,” Mr. Manning said to Mrs.
Bryan, when he called one day to inquire for the invalid, “she never
knew the day of her divorce. Now she will just recognize the fact that
it is past, and that she’s no longer that scoundrel’s wife. A more
cold-blooded, selfish, unmitigated brute I never came across, and it’s
a blessed thing she’s got the divorce, poor little thing! All the same,
it has broken her heart.”
By the time the invalid was able to go about again, the papers
mentioned the marriage of Herbert Leith, in Spain.
Nothing but the bare fact reached the ears of Mimi, who still bears
his name and wears his ring, and bullies Mauma and pampers Fleecy, and
looks almost as childish, though never as pretty again, as she did on
the night of that parting.