Jean entered the Lorna Doone with a sense of having known the
place in some former life. Its braggart onyx, its rugs, its palms,
all the veneer which went to make for "tone"--that fetich of the
dentist--greeted her with a luster scarcely dimmed; the negro hall-boy
flashed a toothful smile of recognition; and even a scratch, which
their moving had left on the green denim by the flat door, had its keen
associations.
It was a relief to lay eyes upon Amy, who had no close relationship to
this dead yet risen past. Amy, poor wight, seemed related to nothing
familiar. Easily flooding tears, which gushed afresh at sight of Jean,
had washed her prettiness away.
"I knew you'd come," she whispered, clinging desperately. "Paul thought
it was no use to ask, but I made him go. You're not mad at me, Jean,
for sending? I've nobody else--not a soul."
Jean soothed her as she would a child, and leading her into a bedroom
close at hand, made her lie down. No sooner did her head touch the
pillow, however, than she struggled up again.
"I can't lie still," she pleaded. "Don't make me lie still. I tossed
here all night. I can't rest, I must talk. I want you to know what's
happened. I want you to tell me what to do. I must do something. It
can't go on. I'll lose my mind. I'll die."
Jean drew the woebegone figure to her.
"Tell me, Amy," she said gently. "Perhaps it isn't as black as it
seems."
Amy rocked herself disconsolately.
"It's blacker than it seems," she lamented. "Oh, if I'd never taken
the flat! Fred never wanted me to do it. I've only myself to thank. I
didn't know when I was well off."
"But what has the flat to do with your trouble?"
"Everything. I thought it would be heaven to keep house,--my own
house,--but it's been a hell. Fred said we couldn't afford a girl,
though I never saw why, for he's done splendid in his new territory.
And he didn't like my cooking! I only learned the plain things at the
refuge, you know, and he's been pampered, living so much at hotels.
Somehow I never can do things his way. Traveling men think a lot of
their stomachs, and Fred is more particular than most."
Jean began to comprehend the sordid little tragedy.
"But you'll learn," she comforted. "Make Fred buy you a first-class
cook-book. Try the recipes by yourself till you succeed. Don't feed him
on the experiments."
"I did try by myself. I practiced on a Welsh rabbit, and I thought I
had it down fine. So I surprised him one night after the theater when
he came home hungry. He said it wasn't fit for a h-h-hog!"
Jean's indignation boiled over.
"It was a thousand times too good for him," she cried.
"Don't," begged Amy. "I didn't blame him after I tasted it. The thing
I do blame him for and can't bear is the way he criticises my looks. I
can't always look pretty and do my work. Fred seems to think I ought,
and is always holding up Stella to me without stopping to remember that
she has nothing to do but sing and change her clothes."
"Stella! Do you let Stella Wilkes come here?"
"Fred made me ask her. She's got a flat herself--just a common sort of
a place that she rents furnished, with two chorus-girls. She's making
money now. She left the Coney Island beer-hall for one of those cheap
Fourteenth Street theaters. Fred says she's bound to make a hit. He's
crazy about her,"--her voice rose to a wail,--"just crazy!"
Jean held the shaking form closer.
"Aren't you mistaken?" she said, without conviction.
"Mistaken!" The girl wrenched herself erect. "Last night I saw her in
his arms."
"Amy!"
"I saw them--here--in my own house! Stella was here when Fred came home
from Newark--I guess she knew he was coming--and he made her take off
her things and stay to supper. It wasn't a good supper. The gas-range
wouldn't work, and I'd forgotten to put Fred's beer in the ice-box. I
was hot and cross from standing over the fire, and hadn't a minute to
do my hair. I saw Fred looking from me to Stella, who was dressed to
kill, and I knew what he thought. I could have cried right there. I
don't know how I got through the meal, but it ended somehow, and they
went off into the parlor, leaving me to clear away the things. I washed
the dishes up, for, company or not, I hate to let them stand over until
morning; and then fixed myself a little to go where they were. I must
have got through sooner than they expected. I saw him kiss her as plain
as I see you."
"Did they know you saw them?"
"I let them know," rejoined Amy, with a heart-breaking laugh. "I'll
bet her ears burn yet. I ordered her out of the house, and she went,
double-quick!"
"And he?"
The light died out of Amy's face.
"Fred went, too," she said numbly. "I haven't seen him since. I'll
never see him again, I guess. I'm the most miserable girl alive! What
shall I do? What shall I do?"
"Divorce the scoundrel," counseled Jean, promptly. "I'll take care of
the lawyer. I'll employ detectives, too, if you need more evidence, as
I suppose you will. He must be made to pay alimony. But you've nothing
to fear, even if you don't get a cent. You earned your living once;
you can do it again. Be rid of him at once."
Amy turned her face away.
"You don't know," she moaned.
"What is it I don't know?"
"The truth--the real truth."
"You mean you still care for him?"
"I do care for him--I always shall--but that's not what I mean. I can't
divorce Fred. I'm not--not his wife."
Jean sprang to her feet.
"You're not married!"
A spasm of anguish racked the shrinking form.
"Not--not yet."
Jean stood in rigid dismay, striving to read this enigma.
"Not yet," she repeated slowly. "Did you believe, Amy, _could_ you
believe, he ever meant to deal honestly with you?"
"Yes!" The girl turned passionately. "Yes, yes, a thousand times yes!
He couldn't at first. His wife had divorced him, and he wasn't allowed
to remarry for three years. The time wasn't up when we met again; it
wasn't up when we began to live together. It seemed so long to wait. I
trusted him. I loved him."
"But now? He is free now?"
"Yes."
"And does nothing!"
"We--we put it off."
"You mean, he put it off. Amy! Amy! Can't you realize that he is
worthless? Can't you understand that you must root him out of your
life? Face this like a brave woman. I'll help you make a fresh start.
Be independent. Cut yourself off from him completely. Do it now--now!"
Amy's haggard eyes were unresponsive.
"It's too late."
"No, no!"
"It's too late. I can't cut myself off from him. Jean!" Her voice
quavered to shrill intensity. "Jean! Don't you--don't you _see_!"
Jean saw and was answered, and her womanhood bade her sweep the
weakling to her breast.
"I've kept it from him," wept Amy. "He hates children about. I did not
dare tell him."
"I dare," cried Jean, like a trumpet-call. "And I will."
Her assurance quieted the girl like an anodyne, and presently she
slept. Sundown, twilight, and night succeeded. The watcher's muscles
grew cramped, but whenever she sought to loose the sleeper's clasp,
Amy whimpered like a feverish child, and so she sat compassionately on
aiding nature's healing work. Meanwhile she tried to frame her appeal
to the drummer. How or when she should reach him she knew not; Amy
must bring about a meeting. She did not believe that he had definitely
deserted his victim. His sample-cases in the hall, his innumerable
pipes, his clothing strewn about the bedroom, all argued a return.
She longed that he might come now while her wrath burned hottest and
she might scorch him to a sense of his infamy. It could be done. She
was confident that she could stir him somehow. Surely, he was not
all beast. Somewhere underneath the selfish hide lurked a torpid
microscopic soul, some germ of pity, some spark of manhood.
Then Amy awoke, refreshed, heartened, yet still spineless, clinging,
and dependent; and Jean threw herself into the task of cheering this
mockery of a home. She made Amy bathe her dreadful eyes, arrange
her hair, don a dress the drummer liked; and then set her ordering
the neglected flat, while she herself conjured up a meal from the
unpromising materials which a search of the larder disclosed. The
little kitchen was haunted with ghosts of her other life. The dentist's
astonishing ice-cream freezer and the patent dish-washer stared her in
the face, and her hunt for the tea-canister revealed the kit of tools
she had bought to surprise him. Not a utensil hung here which was not
of their choosing.
And so it was with the other rooms. When she came to lay the cloth,
its grape-vine pattern greeted her like a forgotten acquaintance; the
colonial sideboard and the massive table, as formerly, united to resist
invasion of their tiny stronghold. The silver candelabra, restored to
the giver, still flanked Grimes's Louis XV clock upon the mantelpiece;
the galaxy of American poets hung where she had appointed. The Jean
who had done these things, lived this existence, was a distant, shadowy
personality, and the feat of making her intelligible to another seemed
more than ever impossible. She rejoiced that she had locked this
chapter from Craig. Her present self was her real self, the Jean he
idealized, the real Jean.
The belated supper braced Amy's mood. She became apologetic for the
drummer and sanguine of the future.
"Don't be harsh with Fred," she entreated. "Tell him the truth, but
don't hurt his pride. Fred is so proud. He's the proudest man I ever
knew. Besides, I'm every bit as much to blame. Stroke him the right
way, and he'll do almost anything you want. I could have managed him,
if I'd been well. He means all right. He'll do right, too. I wish--I
wish you could see us married, Jean. If he would only come now, we
could get a minister in and have it over to-night."
Jean hoped as fervently as Amy for the drummer's coming, and in this
hope lingered till she could wait no longer.
"Go to bed," she charged. "Sitting up won't hurry him home. If
he comes, don't weep, don't reproach him, don't plead with him,
don't--above all--don't apologize. Keep him guessing for once, and
leave the talking to me. Find out in some way where I can see him. If
he will be home to-morrow evening, I'll come here; if there's a chance
of catching him earlier at the office of his firm, let me know and I'll
go there. Meanwhile say nothing, but look your best."
Amy promised all things, and Jean hurried out, horrified at the
lateness of the hour. The long down-town journey at this hour daunted
her till she shook off the atmosphere of the Lorna Doone sufficiently
to recall that penny-saving was no more a vital factor in her life.
Cabs were not wont to stalk custom in this neighborhood, however, and
even a search of the nearest cross-street, where business predominated,
was fruitless. As she hesitated, scouring the scene, the attentions of
a group of corner loafers became pointed, and, believing one of them
about to accost her, she darted down a convenient stair of the subway
and boarded a train which was just about to depart. She rode past two
stations before she discovered that in her haste she had entered from
an uptown platform.
Dismounting, she began a wait in the whited suffocating cavern, which
seemed endless. Under the hard glitter of the arc-lights the raw
flamboyant advertisements of soaps, whiskies, hair tonics, liver pills,
and department-store specials became a physical pain. The voices of
the ticket-choppers, gossiping across the tracks of the President whom
they called by a diminutive of his first name, were like the drone
of monster flies in a bottle. Then the green and yellow eyes of her
dilatory train gleamed far down the tunnel, and the rails quickened
and murmured under its onset. This show of speed was delusive,
however. They halted leisurely at platforms where no one got off or
on, and loitered mysteriously in the bowels of the earth where were no
stations whatsoever. The system seemed hopelessly out of joint and the
handful of passengers sighed or swore, according to sex, and tried with
grotesque noddings to nap through the tedious delays. Then more waits
and more stations succeeded, and the ranks of the sufferers thinned
until only Jean and a red-nosed woman, who smelled of gin and thirsted
for conversation, were left.
At last came release, and, spurred forward by the waxing friendliness
of the red-nose, who also alighted, she hurried to the surface. The
remaining distance was short, and in five minutes she was rummaging her
shopping-bag for a latch-key. The servants were of course abed. Not a
light was visible. All the house apparently slumbered in after-midnight
peace. She experienced a burglarious sense of adventure in fitting her
key to the lock, and a guilty start when the heavy door escaped her
fingers and shut with a resounding slam. At the same instant a light
streamed from the library at the farther end of the hall, disclosing
Julie haughtily erect in the opening, and Craig's stricken face just
behind.