THE CONFESSION
One June morning in the second year of the existence of The St. Ives
and Hart Company, Emil entered his wife's room.
In order to be in range of the draught from the window, Annie had
pulled forward a couch. Clothed in a shabby wrapper, open at the neck,
she was curled up languidly with her head on a cushion. Emil gazed at
her while something like compunction blazed up in his eyes. He amazed
her by sitting down by her side and drawing her to his breast. Holding
her two tiny hands in one of his own, he caressed her hair and even
drew a pitying finger over the prominent cords of her poor little
throat. Then he strained her to him, sighing as if from a full heart.
Annie burst into tears at this unexpected tenderness. Twisting herself
around, she rested her cheek against his.
"You--you leave me to myself all the time, Alexander," she sobbed, "and
I've no one at all but you."
"Yes, yes, I know," he responded mournfully.
"And you don't talk to me about your work as you do to Mrs. Hart; and I
could understand as well as she if you would take the trouble to
explain to me."
"Well, don't cry, little kitten," he said, "I've come to explain
something to you now and I hope it will please you."
"How please me?" she asked.
"Well, I have an idea at last which I think will strike your fancy. I
mean it's practical," he explained, "--has commercial possibilities."
"Are you sure?" she demanded doubtfully: "you aren't a very good judge,
you know."
"Never the less, I can't help knowing that anything in the line of a
novel improvement of a musical instrument like the organ,--in fact, an
innovation,--in these days is almost certain to succeed."
"Oh, Alexander, tell me! Tell me what you have in mind!" and raising
her head from his shoulder she laid hold of his hand.
"What an excitable little creature it is," he said tenderly. "Well,
it's a scheme for increasing the capacity for emotional expression in
an organ. I shall manage to combine the vibrations of strings with
those of pipes by incorporating in the organ a complete piano action.
Do you understand?"
She nodded.
He laughed. "A pile you do! I shall combine them in such a way, that
by a separate keyboard the strings can be used for piano accompaniment,
and also can be coupled with the organ keys so that when they are
depressed, the corresponding dampers in the piano are lifted from the
strings to admit of their free sympathetic vibration."
"Oh!" said Annie, on a long breath. "And you think it might mean a big
thing?"
"In a commercial sense, yes; in fact I think it's about certain to be
popular. But in order to carry out the scheme I shall have to have
every chance for experimenting, you know," and he looked pleadingly
into her face.
"Of course;" she agreed, "but this place suits you, Alexander--you
always said that it did?"
"Yes, the place is all right," he answered, hesitating, "but I need an
instrument, you see. So I--I've bought one," he added softly.
"Not a pipe organ, Alexander?"
He nodded. "A second-hand one, very small, naturally, only two
manuals. But even so, I shall have to pull out one of the partitions
before it can be set up."
"How much did it cost?" she cried, and her eyes and her mouth assumed
the appearance in her countenance of three little round holes of horror.
"Well, by paying cash for it to the church committee who put it up at
auction," he said in a low voice, "I got it for eight hundred dollars."
At these words Annie crossed to the further side of the room and
dropping into a chair, leaned her forehead against the wall.
Alexander looked at her with miserable eyes. Her action was a thousand
times more disquieting than the volley of reproaches he had expected.
"They've come now, I think," he said after a pause. "They're going to
hoist part of it up from the outside, and I hear them on the roof.
Don't feel that way about it," he implored. "The scheme really is a
good one, Annie, and I'll make a success of it, I promise you. I'll
get the eight hundred dollars back and any amount besides."
But Annie continued motionless and he approached her chair. "I suppose
it does seem like a lot for us to put into it," he continued with
unwonted tenderness, "but it was a tempting bargain and as I couldn't
develop my scheme without it-- See here," he interrupted himself,
"haven't you told me often enough that I ought to invent something that
would prove to be a success; that I ought to do it to justify the
Company's belief in me, and especially Mrs. Hart's belief?"
Then Annie turned on him. She even rose from her chair, the back of
which she grasped with a shaking hand. "And it's to justify _her_
belief in you, is it? that you spent all that we'd managed to save?
Very thoughtful, I am sure. _Her_ interest indeed! I wish you'd never
seen her. I hate her, I do, I hate her!"
"Annie!" he exclaimed, for her little visage was twisted out of all
semblance to itself.
"I do, I hate her!" she repeated. "As for buying that organ because
you needed it, don't you suppose I know you've always hung around organ
lofts and even followed hurdy-gurdies on the street? You bought the
organ because you wanted it. Alexander, you--you leave me!" she
finished hysterically.
Abashed, Emil stared at her; then relieved at this outburst, which was
what he had looked for, he went to superintend the installing of his
luckless possession. Since concluding the purchase of the organ the
wisdom of the step had appeared dubious to his unpractical mind. Now,
had it been possible for him to transfer the burden of ownership, he
would gladly have transferred it. But the organ, to another, would
have been an undesirable acquisition. It was wheezy of tone and sadly
out of order, but this very condition was what had recommended it to
him, and he looked forward with exultant joy to restoring it to a sense
of perfection.
As no retreat was possible, between ruefulness and pride he lifted the
blue and gold pipes from the long coffin-shaped box in which they had
been packed. Other parts of the organ, being less liable to damage,
were hoisted through the window.
When Annie emerged half an hour later, dressed for the street, the
passageway and the two workrooms presented a scene of indescribable
confusion. Had she glanced in at the door of the larger room, she
might have seen the uncouth monster minus the ornamental front it
usually turned to an audience. But she looked neither to the right nor
the left. Despite the warmth of the day she had a veil tied over her
face. The only signs of her distress were the damp blotches in the
material over the regions of mouth and eyes. She had decided to carry
her story straight to Simon Hart.
When Annie reached the house in Washington Square, Rachel was mounting
the steps. Simon had only just returned for luncheon and Rachel
conducted the visitor to his study, a cool dark room on the second
floor, and then stood by to listen to what the other had to say.
And Annie poured forth her tale. Perched on the extreme edge of a huge
armchair, she was too carried away by her trouble to heed the presence
of Rachel, and as she finished, Simon, with a look of annoyance, was
about to express his sympathy when his wife laid her hand forcibly on
his arm.
"And why shouldn't he buy an organ?" she demanded, turning on Annie,
and it was evident from the light in her eyes that she was angry. "You
are insane to look at the matter as you do. Of course he had to have
the organ," she declared. "May not an inventor be allowed the
necessary materials for his work? And if the thing should prove a
success, as he thinks it may, and as I can see that it may, even from
Annie's hazy description, why then you two will be glad enough that he
got the organ." And she glanced from one to the other triumphantly.
"But, my dear," her husband interposed, "you heard what Mrs. St. Ives
said; the whole point is that they are not in a position to afford it."
"But the Company is," Rachel answered and looked him directly in the
eyes. The next instant she was a prey to shame, bitter and scorching.
With a glance of icy disapproval, he turned away from her, and she
hurriedly crossed to a window and began nervously to remove the rings
from her fingers.
Not a day passed but she thus surprised herself. For the same emotion,
ever new, ever unlooked for, ever commencing afresh, constantly tempted
her into enthusiastic championship of Emil's cause. Far from wishing
to disguise the feeling, however, now that she herself realized the
force of it, Rachel had often desired to speak of it to Simon; and only
the fact that he definitely and obstinately avoided the subject kept
her silent.
As a result of Annie's visit, the complexion of affairs in John Street
took a more favourable colour, while those in Washington Square assumed
a more tragic hue. Annie, despite her bitter words about Rachel, was
not actively jealous of her. Now she was comforted by Simon's
sympathy, which she felt; for between these two unhappy souls there was
a bond of shy understanding. Also, Rachel's ill-considered words
produced a certain lightness in Annie and she concluded that they would
not be allowed to suffer because of Emil's extravagance.
Upon Rachel, the result of the interview was otherwise. Seldom had she
experienced a more desperate mood than that which assailed her after
Annie had quitted the house.
More than once she went to Simon's study determined to speak her mind,
but the door remained steadfastly closed against her.
As it was Saturday, Simon did not return to the shop in the afternoon,
nor did he emerge from the study at dinner time, and Theresa, with a
sly rolling of the eye in her mistress's direction, prepared a tray for
him. Simon always expressed his anger by an increase of coldness and
silence and by shutting himself up in this way. "He's in there,"
Rachel reflected, "thinking and drinking." And she preferred the
liquor, the effect of which she had often noted, to his thoughts, the
effect of which she could not calculate. Until a late hour she heard
him walking backward and forward with irregular steps over the echoing
floor, and it was after midnight when his door opened and he descended
the stairs. This was an old-fashioned house with a cellar and there
the wine was kept. It was to the cellar she knew he had gone.
Determined to seize the opportunity of speaking to him, she threw a
wrapper over her nightdress and hurried after him through the darkened
house. He had turned on the light in the hanging electric bulb, and
when she came upon him he was standing before a table on which was
placed a case of wine. In all probability he had been drinking brandy
and was finishing with claret. To her surprise, as if actuated by mere
thirsty impatience, she saw him strike off the neck of a bottle. This
action in a man of his fastidious habits was big with meaning. He
lifted the bottle to his lips, his head flung back. He did not see her
until she touched his arm.
"Simon," she cried, "this can't go on!"
Thinking she referred to the liquor, he set down the bottle and
regarded her with an abashed and amazed look. His long face, without
its usual mask, was fairly pitiful. Later he would not be able to
forgive her for surprising him in this way. But she was bent solely on
making her confession.
"Simon," she cried, laying hold of the sleeve of his coat, "I was wrong
in what I said this afternoon. I own I was wrong; and I ask you to
forgive me. But there should be no secrets between us and I have no
wish to disguise anything. Simon"--and her eyes, usually serious and a
little sulky, flew to his face and clung there brilliant with
appeal--"you must know that my feeling for Mr. St. Ives existed before
I ever knew you; it is a part of myself. I can't explain it; but it
does you no wrong. And never could do you any wrong."
During this explanation Simon had grown paler than was his wont.
Pushing aside her hands and standing off from her, he had begun by
drawing his fingers nervously through his fringe of hair; but as she
proceeded, he became absolutely motionless and his face assumed the
lines of a tragic mask.
"I would not have things different even if I could," she went on; "I am
content with you and you know it. But oh,"--and she threw, out both
hands in a gesture exceedingly simple and genuine,--"please do not
misconstrue what you cannot, perhaps, understand!"
But at this point he interrupted her with a violent movement that threw
the bottle of wine to the stone floor where the contents spilled in a
red flood. "Once and for all," he cried, articulating the words with
difficulty, "I want you to know that I will not listen to your
analysis. I may deplore your interest in--in St. Ives--I do deplore
it, but I do not wish to hear anything of it."
He had put a special accent on the word _interest_ and Rachel once more
closely examined his face. Was it possible that he purposely
misconstrued the situation and chose to close his eyes to what he
believed--or had he understood her? "For it is possible for a woman,
as well as a man," she told herself vehemently, "to love two, and to
love each differently." Gallant, courageous little heart! Thus did
she disguise the truth even from herself.
The wine pouring from the bottle had splashed the bedroom slippers of
light felt which she had slipped over her bare feet. Now with a
movement, wholly womanly, she bent and tried to remove the spots by
rubbing them with her hand, while the loosened mass of her hair,
dropping forward, half enveloped her like a veil.
Simon's eyes gleamed, but he instantly averted his gaze.
"What do you mean by coming down here?" he said harshly. "It is too
damp for you. Go upstairs."
Rachel lifted herself and made a trembling movement toward him. He
tried to ignore her; then seizing her arm, from which the loose sleeve
fell back, he pressed his lips to it once and pushed her from him. "Go
upstairs;" he repeated in a voice which she scarcely recognized, and as
he turned away she saw that tears were forcing themselves from beneath
his tightly-closed lids and running down his convulsed face.
His repulse of her had been so violent that the hand which she flung
out to save herself was cut against the rough masonry of the wall. In
silence she looked at the wound, and an infinite tenderness and pity
replaced the stern and mournful expression on her face. Without a word
she mounted the stairs.