Ulick was reading Le Jardin de Bérénice in his music-room. He had not
enjoyed his luncheon, and fearing sleep, for he detested afternoon
naps, he took refuge in the pages of the subtle Barrès. It was
beginning to darken, though it couldn't have been more than four
o'clock, but rain had set in and he was about to turn on the lights
when he heard taps on his glass door; this tapping was immediately
followed by the entrance of Mona, veiled, and mysterious. He couldn't
refrain from frowning, and then he hoped she hadn't noticed his
dissatisfaction. She went to him and kissed him. Ulick, surprised,
kept his head. "You darling Mona, and I had never expected to see you
again." And with that he grasped her and the lovers embraced. Mona
made no pretence of coyness. She hugged Ulick as if for the last time.
Tears rolled down her cheeks. He was greatly touched, also alarmed by
her fervour. But he asked no explanation of her conduct in running away
from him; she vouchsafed none. They were happy to be together. What the
use of words! He finally begged of her, seeing that she was pale from
emotion, to remove her hat and wraps, and he made her sit on the couch
close to him. After a pause, she said:
"Ulick, our children, our dream-children, they are born at last, and
they are loved by their parents, are they not?" He smiled, though he
felt uncomfortable at this putting of the horses behind the cart; in
fact, his conscience was beginning to toll warning bells. He had
solemnly promised Milt, had he not, and in this very room, that he
would respect his sister! And here she was, that adorable sister, in
his arms, only a few days after the interview with her brother. Ulick
resolved on stern conduct. He gently drew away from Mona and looked
at her as steadily as his beating arteries would permit him. She sat
up and asked: "Ulick, you have something on your mind. What is it,
dearie?" He winced. The same depressing word that Dora always used. He
loathed it. It was so commonplace; worse, it had such a "professional"
ring. Hearing it now gave him a mental excuse for reaction. He rose,
pressed a button, and the apartment became cruelly illuminated. Mona
blinked, shaded her eyes with her veil. She didn't like such a glare,
she told him, She was irritated. Her current had been turned off that
electric current of the sexes. Ulick sat down before his study table.
He was already bored; she recognized the symptoms. He drummed with his
fingers, his glance went over her head. Evidently he wished her away.
She regretted the generous élan that had propelled her into his arms.
But she didn't stir from the couch. Another pause, long, distressing to
both. Ulick yawned. This was the culminating insult. Her pride pricked,
she sat rigid as a candle and regarded the man she loved, the man who
fathered her dream-children. Then, "Ulick," she whispered, "Ulick, my
love, come to me. Don't let silly reasons keep us apart any longer.
Ulick, I say, come at once to your mamma, your little mamma. Oh! Ulick
don't forget Grane and Shamus." She stamped her foot. She was growing
excited, and Ulick wished himself a thousand miles away. He knew where
this would lead. He didn't trust his nerves, which always played him
false with women. He knew that his promises to Milt were as naught
if this enchanting girl opened her arms. And now she was opening
those seductive arms. He felt lost. He didn't think of the future, of
marriage; the vivid moment overwhelmed him, swept him down to disaster,
a disaster that would be shared--Oh! how bitterly shared--by this
imprudent girl. Imprudent? Better say, crazy girl.
He paced the floor. He made up his mind to vanish altogether rather
than fall into the burning pit. Milt's phrases came to his memory.
Suddenly he resolved on a plan of action. He turned to her. "Mona," he
said, "it's getting late. It's raining. Hadn't we better be going?"
She didn't budge. He felt ashamed at the crudity of his speech. He
had ardently longed for this meeting, and now he was acting like a
cowardly eunuch. Mona grasped his hand as he irresolutely stood before
her. "Ulick, don't let us waste our happiness. Jewel, love, I'm here.
I came to you. I am the suitor. Take me, Jewel, take me. Tomorrow it
may be too late." The rising storm was ominously hysterical. She was
become uncontrollable. She tried to drag him down to her. He resisted
her tumultuous onset blushing like a virgin. Obstinately she tugged at
his arm, sitting all the while. For an instant "nymphomaniac" flashed
across his consciousness. He dragged his arm from her grasp.
"The open door, the open door to freedom, Jewel," she gasped, and
arising she seized him with such passion that he was panic-stricken. He
ran into his bedroom bolting the door. Mona, now quite beside herself
reached the switchboard and the room was darkened. She went to the
closed door and began beating upon its panels with her fists.
"The open door, Ulick, the open door!" she cried and her voice had the
accents of a delirious woman. "Oh, please, for God's sake open the
door, Jewel----" "It's surely maternal nymphomania," he muttered on the
other side of the door. "What shall I do? If she keeps on shrieking she
will alarm the house--perhaps the police--horrible!--an ambulance--the
police-station--the scandal--her parents--Milt--my God! what shall I
do?----" The pounding redoubled. She moaned.
"Make me a woman, Jewel, make me a woman! Open the door, make me a
woman!" Perspiration almost blinded him. Make her a woman!... She was
the stronger ... as strong as death....
The door slowly opened. Mona fell into his arms, still sobbing: "Make
me a woman, Jewel, make me a woman"....
Mona on reaching her home didn't go into the dining-room; instead she
rang for her maid and bade her bring tea and toast to the studio;
she had a headache, and please let her mother and father know that
she wouldn't come down to dinner. Then she went to her mirror and
carefully searched as if she were seeking something. Her features were
not discomposed, her expression as usual; perhaps she was a trifle
paler than her wont, otherwise--rien! Yes, her eyes seemed as if
they had been well-washed, as if a beneficent rain had carried away
all the signs of discontent, rebellion, unhappiness. Mona tried to
imagine herself supremely happy. She wasn't. Then impatiently snapping
her fingers she looked at her doll on the bed: "It's frightfully
over-advertised, Dolly, that's what love is." Dolly only stared,
sphinx-wise.