HOW IS IT POSSIBLE TO STOP LOVING
For six weeks she kept steadfastly away from the place in John Street.
When by herself, she would often clasp her hands very tightly and raise
them above her head while sounds between sighs and sobs escaped from
her breast. But from Simon she carefully concealed every sign of her
misery. She strove to exhibit more interest in all that interested him.
Julia Burgdorf dropped in one evening and finding them together at the
pianola, pronounced them a model couple. Julia had come to offer them
her country house on Long Island during her own absence in Europe that
summer.
"Gray Arches is a lonely, remote, romantic spot,--in fact, just the
place for a pair of lovers like you two," she declared looking from one
to the other with sarcastic amusement.
The place, which consisted of a large house, gardener's cottage, and
stables, had fallen but recently into her hands, she went on to
explain, and she had learned through her agent that it was somewhat out
of repair as it had not been occupied for three years.
"You can understand, Simon, that I don't want to bother about putting
it in shape this year," she concluded, "and as Mr. Gunther assures me
that the house can be occupied as it stands, I shall count it a favour
if you and Rachel will go and live in it as it is."
But Simon had no wish to be under obligation to Julia, and the matter
was settled by his agreeing to rent the place, an arrangement that
nettled her. When she rose to go her cheeks were flushed.
Rachel accompanied her to the hall and, as she was leaving, Julia
turned and laid her hands on the other's shoulders.
"You _are_ a model couple, aren't you?" she insisted, with an
enigmatical smile in her handsome, dark, heavy-lidded eyes.
This smile, which gave her face a resemblance to Simon's, caused the
young wife to colour deeply.
Rachel's confession produced no change in Simon's attitude toward her.
He remained as attentive and considerate, and yet as restrained in his
manner as before, with the difference that he now made a point of
keeping her informed of Emil's progress. The new organ attachment
promised so well that the Company were hopeful and the inventor was
supplied with every facility for proceeding with his work. By
vibrating the strings of a piano by means of electrical induction,
rather than by striking them with hammers, a strange and ethereal
result was obtained, and these tones combined with those of a pipe
organ produced an effect absolutely novel in musical expression.
As Rachel listened to Simon's attempted description of the complicated
contrivance, she was obliged to bend her head over whatever work she
held, to conceal the joyous expression of her face. Until Emil should
justify the interest shown in him, she could not help feeling
responsible, not alone to her husband but to all the other members of
the Company which had been incorporated without sufficient capital.
"St. Ives is even growing businesslike in his treatment of us," Simon
remarked one morning in a voice from which he carefully excluded all
trace of personal feeling. "He telephoned very early to say that he is
called out of town by the illness of his mother. If he finds that her
condition is serious, he may be gone some days. So I think, my dear,"
he concluded, "you had better go round and see Mrs. St. Ives. It must
be lonely for her there, and you might take her to drive."
An hour later Rachel showed herself in John Street. Walking along the
passage she glanced into Emil's workroom where the organ now occupied
half the available space. It was deserted except for Lulu. Crouched
on the window ledge, she was pensively cherishing a maple leaf someone
had given her. She had removed the substance of the leaf from between
the veins, now only its framework remained, and this she held closely
to her breast. At Rachel's step she looked over her shoulder and an
inscrutable sadness appeared in her little eyes.
Rachel tapped at Annie's door, which was thrown open to her with
startling suddenness. Annie was all ready for the street and a
suit-case stood on the floor. The room exhibited the utmost confusion.
"Where are you going?" Rachel cried.
"To my father's. He's written me several times saying that I may come
home if I'll leave Alexander; and I'm going to leave him and I'm never
coming back either." A sob caught Annie's breath as she strove to
button her glove.
Rachel took the wrist and fastened the glove. "But you're not going to
leave him now when he's in such trouble about his mother, are you?"
"Yes I am. I offered to go with him this morning when he got word of
her illness, but he wouldn't let me. He said I'd always been hateful
about her and I shouldn't trouble her now she was dying. He insulted
me;" and stooping, Annie picked up the suit-case. "Please let me
pass," she said with dismal dignity. "You don't know what you're
talking about when you advise me to stay with him. I'm no use to him,
he shows that every day; and why shouldn't I live comfortable?
Besides," she added, and she glanced about her apprehensively, "I'm
afraid here."
Hastening down the passageway, she entered Emil's workroom and pointed
through the skylight:
"They've been spying down here with a telescope ever since Alexander
left early this morning to see what he's working on."
The neighbouring office building was very tall and in one of the upper
windows the round eye of a telescope was to be seen.
"They manufacture organs themselves," Annie explained, "and first one
and then another of them has been hanging around here for a long time.
Now it's a fair-haired man with a pock-marked face and sometimes it's a
little black Jew. They always have some excuse; but I've warned
Alexander."
"Why don't you cover up things?" Rachel interrupted her, and divesting
the couch of its Bagdad covering, she threw it over the metal plate,
strings and sounding-board of the piano which stood on the floor.
Annie cast a glance over her shoulder. "You'd better cover up those
wires that pass through the wall," she said, "they're connected with
the battery and that's what they're crazy to find out about."
Rachel adjusted the covering; then she ran after Annie, who had gained
the outer door. She caught her by the shoulders and twitched her
about. "But why didn't you do it yourself?" she cried. "What do you
_mean_ by not doing it, you--you little coward? Your husband's a
genius; but that's all you care!"
Annie with difficulty rid herself of the other's grasp and backed off.
"I don't care if he's a genius a thousand times over," she cried
hysterically, "I guess he isn't the only one to be thought of! Oh, he
had no right to leave me this way with the janitress and everyone
gone!" Sobs rose in her throat.
Turning to the door, she ran out upon the landing; but Rachel's voice,
keyed to a pitch of indignation, pursued her.
"You would leave this place all alone, would you? You are not even
going to close the windows but leave everything open?"
Annie made a helpless gesture as she descended the stairs. "It won't
be alone; Ding Dong will be along in a few minutes and he'll attend to
everything."
Rachel remained staring after her for a moment; then, her eyes blazing
with disdain, she closed the door. Pride kept her from bolting it.
Returning to the workroom she sat down beside the bench and
occasionally she glanced up at the telescope. Though she told herself
that Annie had imagined the whole situation, she was relieved to find
that the watcher had forsaken his post. As for the quarrel, it must
have been of a more serious nature than usual. However, Annie would
not remain away for any length of time.
This was the noon hour and owing to a slight diminution in the roar of
the city the ticking of a clock could be heard through the room. For a
time Rachel's face wore the scornful look it had worn in Annie's
presence, but gradually this expression gave place to undisguised
enthusiasm. Taking the tools one by one into her hands, she examined
them, wondering about their use. A radiometer on which Emil was
engaged in making improvements, stood at her elbow; drawing this to her
with both hands, she began patting it after the fashion of a mother
caressing the head of a child. Finally she rested her hot cheek
against the polished surface and closed her eyes. Lulu, who had been
observing her intently from the loftiest pipe of the organ, crept to a
position at her shoulder. There, crouched amid a clutter of tools and
instruments, she continued to cherish the maple leaf. Had an observer
been present, the two might have suggested to his mind a group by
Albrecht Dürer; for the sentimental look in the face of the little
animal was a droll reflection of the devotion in the face of the woman.
Presently a tear stole down Rachel's cheek. She had just lifted her
hand to brush it away when she heard a step in the passage. Thinking
Ding Dong had come, she turned to the door; but a large light-haired
man with a pock-marked face stood before her.
Both started. The stranger instantly recovered himself.
"Good afternoon, madam," he said, removing his hat with a flourish;
"can you tell me if Mr. St. Ives is in?"
Rachel stood up; one of her hands rested on the piano sounding-board.
"No, he is not."
"Mrs. St. Ives, then?"
She made no reply.
The man stared at her uneasily. "That is unfortunate," he said after a
moment, as if she had replied to his question. "However, it doesn't
matter," with a smile, showing two rows of strong yellow teeth; "I'm an
expert mechanic and Mr. St. Ives asked me to step round and take a look
at a model he's at work on. It's a piano attachment, and there's some
ticklish point about which he wanted my advice. If you'll excuse me,"
he added blandly, "that is the model just behind you, I think. I'll
examine it and make my report to him."
He advanced but Rachel did not alter her position. The colour had fled
her cheek, but in her dark eyes a spark had kindled and this grew
steadily larger. Until he was within a foot of her, she looked fixedly
at the dirty tie that encircled his throat; then as his hand moved to
twitch the drapery from the sounding-board, she suddenly lifted a
glance in which there was a menacing fury.
His arm dropped and a tremour passed over him similar to the quivering
that agitates the hide of an animal unexpectedly checked in a spring.
For a perceptible space, while the clock ticked monotonously through
the quiet room, measuring off the silence, he stood with his chin
thrust forward. Then an ugly expression crossed his face and the veins
swelled in his forehead.
"I don't want to touch a lady, of course," he said in an under voice,
"but I came to examine that model and I'm going to examine it. As for
you," and it was as if an oath spilled with the words, "you stand out
of the way. Won't eh?" he exclaimed.
He shot out a hand.
But at that moment he was seized from behind by a pair of powerful
arms. Fairly growling with rage, Ding Dong dragged the intruder to his
knees and the two rolled on the floor. The confusion caused by the
scuffle was terrific. Lulu, scudding to the top of the organ, uttered
shriek after shriek as she grasped frantically at her breast with both
hands. Skirting the heaving forms, Rachel fled down to the street.
But one idea stood out in her mind. As it chanced, an officer was
lounging near the doorway and she plucked his sleeve. "Go--go up
there!" she cried, "St. Ives's workroom--a thief has just entered!"
Before she had finished the officer was mounting the stairs.
Her first impulse was to get into her carriage, which, with Peter on
the box, was waiting beside the curb. Then reflecting that Ding Dong
could not speak a word to the officer, she returned to the scene of the
conflict.
Attracted by the sight of the officer, men and boys, scenting
excitement, flocked up the stairs from the other floors. When Rachel
gained the door of the workroom the intruder was clearing the blood
from his face, and the officer, who evidently had accepted a bribe, was
swinging his club and ordering the onlookers to depart. Still perched
on the organ, the monkey, to the delight of the spectators, continued
to chatter with fright. Rachel looked at the officer.
"Arrest that man. Why do you not arrest him?"
The officer ceased smiling. "On what charge, madam? He says he came
here to do some work; well, that's all right!"
"He came here to steal the idea of an invention."
"An idea? I've searched him without finding anything of the kind."
At this fine piece of wit, the spectators, most of them beardless boys,
snickered.
"However, madam," the officer continued, "I'm willing to haul them both
to the station if you say the word, and I take it you're willing to
press the charge, that is, appear against him?"
"No,--I shall not do that," she said, pausing between her words, for
the light in which Simon would view the matter came to her. "Is there
no other way?"
"None that I ever heard of. If you want a man put in jail,--well, you
have to appear and tell why you want it."
She was in her carriage. Sinking into the corner, she ordered the man
to drive home. "And Peter, perhaps you'd better hurry," she added
after a moment. With that small portion of her brain which was not
seething with anger and which persisted in considering that
insignificant feature of the affair, it seemed to her that the man who
had overtaken her and wished to question her, was in all likelihood a
reporter.
And when she reached home, in spite of her gloomy fury at the
frustration of her act of vengeance, the small apprehension persisted.
The newspaper man, when he learned of her identity from the bystanders,
would of course appear to interview her; and however justifiable her
action might be, she knew that Simon would not forgive her if any
publicity were given the affair. To avert trouble, she decided to take
the afternoon train to Julia Burgdorf's country house on Long Island.
She had been there twice with Simon and a telegram to the woman in
charge would be sufficient. Going to the telephone, she called up the
shop; but Simon was absent, and she urged Victor Mudge to have a
watchman sent to John Street. Then leaving a note for her husband, she
started at once.
It was late in the afternoon when she arrived at Gray Arches and the
sun was nearing the horizon. After dinner, which was set out for her
in a glass-enclosed corner of one of the arched porches that gave the
house its name, she went to the beach.
The ocean spread out before her with its salt, fresh scent; its
vivifying breath blowing upon the beach, piled up little hillocks of
sand. Sitting on the sand, propped up on both arms, Rachel steadfastly
regarded the ocean and her mind returned to Emil. The next day, being
Sunday, Simon would, no doubt, follow her. Perhaps he would have
received further news of Emil's mother. If she died, how would Emil
bear it? As he had no philosophy, a great grief might wreck him. And
what could he hold to? Not Annie,--Annie was a broken reed;--not
herself,--Simon would not permit it.
Love was the powerful, mysterious, secret influence at work everywhere.
Undermining, building up, overthrowing, replacing,--it was like a
mighty sea penned in each fragile human breast. Locking her hands
about her knees, Rachel watched the waves. And the waves approached,
grew mighty, curled over, disappeared; approached, grew mighty, curled
over, disappeared.
It was about midnight when she rose.
"No, no, it isn't necessary, and I cannot. I cannot!" she repeated,
lifting her face to the stars which seemed to rain down upon her a
beneficent and vital influence.
She was awakened early the following morning by a tap at her door:
"Madam, Mr. Hart is here. As soon as it is convenient, he would like
to see you."
Rachel hastily dressed herself. She believed she thoroughly knew her
husband, but she was amazed at the expression of his face when she ran
down the stairs. He was standing in the little glass-enclosed end of
the porch, where breakfast was laid, and through the small panes she
saw the flowers nodding brightly. He was looking toward the ocean
without seeing it, his brows contracted, his clean-shaven jaw and cleft
chin twitching slightly. In his hand he held a newspaper.
She approached. Another woman might have tried the effect of a warm
greeting, for it was a question whether, even in his present state, he
would have been able to resist her. But Rachel scorned to make the
attempt.
"What is it, Simon?" she asked quietly.
For answer, still with averted eyes, he handed her the paper.
It was folded in such a manner as to exhibit an article surrounded by a
blue line. The article was a short amusing account of the incident of
the day before, and in it the frightened monkey and all the odd
paraphernalia of the inventor's workshop played an important part.
Barring the headline "Jeweller's Wife hastens to protect Invention of
Young Genius," there was nothing even remotely offensive in it.
"Well?" she remarked, after running her eye over the article; then she
returned the paper.
For answer he twisted it into a ball and flung it from him. "I will
ask you to remember hereafter," he said, speaking so rapidly that he
stammered, "the dignity of the name you bear. I do not relish having
it exploited in this way."
"But what else could I do, Simon? Should I have sat there calmly and
allowed that man to steal Emil's idea?"
"_Emil!_" he repeated, flushing with indignation. "Is the protection
of that--that device of more importance to you than the protection of
my dignity? You considered St. Ives, I grant that: that was to be
expected. But you did not consider me."
"I considered you all---Emil, the Company, you, everyone; and what I
did was absolutely right, _absolutely_! I insist upon it."
"For a lady your action was an unbecoming one," he declared icily.
She gazed upon him with flashing eyes from under contorted brows.
"You say this; you believe it? Very well then, misconstrue what I did
if you choose, torture me, doubt me!" she began fiercely. But suddenly
her thoughts of the evening before returned to her. Something
oppressive filled her breast and rose in her throat.
"But I do not doubt you," he said, checked by the intensity of anguish
her features exhibited. He even put out his hand.
But seizing her head in both hands, she pushed by him and rushed
upstairs.
Her door was not opened until the next morning; then Rachel, all wild
and staring, threw it wide. A low fever had set in. Emily Short
arrived with her fund of common sense and her knitting work (she was
knitting comforters for her special charges among the children)--and
stationed herself at the bedside.
What surprised them all was Rachel's prostration which continued long
after the fever had left her. Turning her face to the wall, she seldom
spoke. When her husband entered the room, she looked at him sometimes
entreatingly, sometimes pityingly; one day, drawing his head down on
her breast, she wept over him. Then she put him gently from her, and
for a long time after, lay like one dead.
Often in the night, when Emily Short, thinking that at last she slept,
bent over her, she discovered her lying rigid and still, with her face
bathed in tears. One night in the third week of her illness, when
Emily came to the bedside, Rachel looked up at her.
"How is it possible--" she whispered.
Emily bent lower, "How is what possible, dear?"
In the silence of the room the words were breathed rather than spoken,
"--to stop loving?"
Emily gave a little start, she scratched her head with her crochet
needle; then the work slipped to the floor and she hid her worn face.
Rachel, folding her arms on her breast, stared with the dumb intensity
of despair at the circle of light which flickered on the ceiling.