When I entered the room I had no intention of engaging in a slanging
match. I had telephoned my coming and her sister was awaiting me. I felt
almost sorry for the girl standing beside the bed, her eyes meeting mine
uncertainly, her lips forcing a greeting.
"Won't you sit down? Fannie, here is Mrs. Hartley...."
The woman in the bed turned and raised herself on her elbow. Her face
was swollen, the lips blue and loose, and her eyes had the look of
watery gelatine. Without meeting my eyes, she moaned theatrically and
buried her face in the pillows.
"What--_what_ must you think of me?" she whined.
"I think you're a fool!" slipped out before I could prevent it.
"All women are fools--we're all fools over some man," she exclaimed,
pounding the pillows with her fist and working herself up to a Zazaesque
brand of hysteria.
"Mrs. F., I did not come here to listen to a dissertation on the
sex-question nor to hold your hand while you have a fit of nerves.
You've got to pull yourself together or I'll wash my hands of the whole
affair. I've come all the way from New York to help you out of a nasty,
a _dirty_ scrape. If you wish to hear what I have to say you'll stop
that silliness and act like a full-grown woman with a modicum of
discretion.... Your husband is apt to walk in at any moment and it may
be well for all concerned that we arrive at some plan of defence."
Her sister, who had retired to a corner of the room behind me when I sat
down, now crossed to the bedside.
"Mrs. Hartley is right, Fannie--Frank is liable to show up at any
minute."
Fannie fished for her handkerchief under the pillows and sniffed
tearfully while her sister arranged the pillows.
"Please pardon me, Mrs. Hartley; my nerves are all gone."
"I have a few nerves, myself," I thought. I found myself grasping the
arms of my chair as one sometimes does at the dentist's and my teeth
fairly ached from the clinching of my jaws. When Mrs. F. had folded and
dropped her hands into her lap with the air of a long-suffering woman, I
proceeded.
"Mr. Hartley and I have decided that you are my guest: that it was at my
invitation you went to Cleveland with us and that I urged you to
continue on the trip until your husband returned from his hunting trip.
On your arrival here, you contracted a heavy cold which developed into
the grippe; grippe will answer as well as anything else and is not
sufficiently serious to call in a physician. Are you familiar with the
symptoms of the grippe?" Mrs. F. nodded.
"Very well. When you began to grow worse you telegraphed your sister."
"But," interjected the sister, "that won't do; that won't hold together
because Frank called me up on the telephone a few moments after he
returned to Chicago and I told him I didn't know where Fannie was...." I
stopped to think....
"Then we'll have to make the telegram reach you immediately _after_ he
telephoned and, as he disappeared so abruptly without telling even his
office force where he was going, you have an explanation for not being
able to reach him.... Now, about the Cleveland week: you didn't know
that your sister had gone away because you yourself were out of town. I
believe that really was the case, was it not?"
"Quite true," replied the sister. "I was spending a few days at
Wheaton."
"Then so far, it is clear, is it not?... Mr. Hartley will take care of
the article which appeared in the Club Window ... and if your husband
arrives, I'll try to take care of him.... Now, ... let us think: are
there any points we have overlooked?" There was a silence while each of
us reviewed the situation. It was Mrs. F. who spoke first.
"Suppose--suppose Frank has set detectives on my track and they find out
that you've not been to Cleveland! O, I'm sure he'll do it! It's just
like Frank! You don't know what a brute he can be. O, it's all very well
to say that I am to blame--that I am in the wrong, but if you had lived
with Frank for eight years as I have you'd understand some things--and
not treat me as if I was a ----"
"Stop that!" I felt my eyes snap with the blaze she had kindled. She
snivelled and sobbed a bit, then relaxed into sullen silence.
"If your husband _has_ employed detectives we'll have to meet the
contingency by standing together. In other words we'll perjure ourselves
like--perfect ladies. Mr. Hartley says--and being a man he ought to
know--that no man would have the courage to tell me I was not telling
the truth, even if he thought so."
"We'll never get away with it--we'll never get away with it," wailed
Mrs. F.
It was the sister who spoke next.
"And suppose Frank does not show up--suppose he doesn't come at all but
waits for the detectives' report and----"
"And begins action for divorce without even saying a word about it!" It
was Madame who interjected this possibility. "Wouldn't that be just like
him! Wouldn't that be Frank just down to the ground? Edith knows how
cold-blooded he is, don't you, Edith? O, it's too awful! I never could
live through such a thing! I wouldn't live! I'd kill myself--I'd throw
myself into the lake! I'd----"
"Don't you think you are wearing that threat a little threadbare?" I
asked quietly, henceforth addressing myself to the sister.
"In the event that your brother-in-law does not come or that we hear
nothing from him, there is only one thing left: you must take your
sister back to Chicago ... and I'll go with you...."
I believe my voice petered out before I completed the sentence. The idea
was repugnant, but was it not all revolting in the extreme? I had given
my promise to Will to "see it through" and I intended to do so to the
best of my ability. Mrs. F.'s sister broke my train of thought. She
stood before me with averted eyes struggling to keep back the tears, and
twisting her hands nervously.
"Mrs. Hartley ... I don't want to appear maudlin ... but I think ... you
understand how I feel.... It seems almost inane to say ... how much we
... appreciate what you are doing.... For my sister's sake I thank you
... I...."
"I'm not doing it for your sister's sake"--I tried to speak gently but
everything in me seemed to have grown hard and unyielding--"nor for my
husband's sake; neither for my own; I've got a boy--a son ... and there
are two little girls...."
A volley of sobs smote our ears and shook the bed.
"My poor babies! The poor darlings!... I wish they had never been born!"
...
"It's too bad you didn't think of them before, Fannie," her sister
answered caustically. It was the first expression of censure she had
voiced. Mrs. F. bounced to a sitting position: yes, _bounced_ is the
only adequate description. Grief had made a quick shift to anger. She
glared at her sister.
"So you've turned against me, too, have you? I might have expected it:
that's the gratitude you feel for all I've done for you. Where would you
be if it were not for me?--you'd be pounding somebody's typewriter for
five dollars a week! This is the thanks I get for sacrificing myself for
the whole family! Every one of them will blame me for the whole
business. What right have you to judge? How does anybody know what I've
suffered for years living with that man?... literally starving for
affection, ... he never took the trouble to understand my temperament
... he neglected me, he----"
"Hah-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-" ... It was my turn to indulge in hysteria, only
mine was of the laughing variety: I laughed until the tears came--until
I sank back from sheer exhaustion. From their expression Madame and her
sister thought I had gone suddenly mad.
"What are you laughing at?" she snapped, glaring at me with suppressed
rage.
"My dear," I responded feebly, "my dear, don't you realize what an awful
old chestnut that neglected wife story is? Mr. Hartley says they all use
it ... it is the cardinal excuse, the subterfuge all married women
resort to, to justify their own infidelities."
"Did--did Mr. Hartley intimate----?"
"O, no! Mr. Hartley betrayed none of your confidences ... but, tell me
honestly ..."--I leaned forward and clasped my knees to better
accentuate my words--"do you really expect a man of the world to believe
that--or care whether you are neglected or not? You know that men gossip
and bandy women's names about their clubs--not in so many damning words,
but with a knowing wink, a shrug of the shoulder, this head-shake, or,
'by pronouncing some doubtful phrase ... or such ambiguous giving out'
... my dear ... I have a rare collection of mash-notes which my
actor-husband has from time to time tossed laughingly into my lap. Their
character varies like the colour of the paper on which they are
written. There is the white, the pale blue, and several shades of
lavender.... The actor's world is full of lavender ladies of the Bovary
type: the wonder of it is that so many of them 'get away with it' as you
have so elegantly expressed it. Suppose _you_ don't get away with it ...
suppose your husband divorces you ... what will become of you? How will
you live? You're not equipped to make your own living. You couldn't even
typewrite--like your sister. Suppose I were to divorce my husband,
naming you as co-respondent: do you flatter yourself he would marry you?
And let us assume that he did: How long do you think it would last? He
is a poor man. His profession is a purely speculative one. His income is
assured for only two weeks at a time, except in rare instances. He
couldn't give you the jewels, the furs, the motors and the luxuries you
now enjoy. How long do you believe your mad passion would endure,
stripped of little appurtenances like wine suppers and suites of rooms
in the best hotels?... Perhaps you'd become an actress like so many
women who look on the stage as an open sesame to a life of
immorality.... Like so many women with a screw loose in their moral
machinery ... no, don't you say a word! This is my scene--and I am going
to hold the centre of the stage for once in my career!... I know your
kind, mi-lady.... You belong to that great class of over-fed and
under-bred women who make life so hard for the rest of their sex. You're
one of the wasters; you waste what does not rightfully belong to you;
what you usurp in your greediness, in your pandering to your vanities,
in your compromise with your better instincts, in your connivance with
the very devil who finds some mischief still for idle hands to do! You
stimulate your passions with alcohol and mistake the fumes for love! You
haven't the courage to come out and be a genuine prostitute, but you ply
the trade in the role of an adulteress. For God's sake, wake up! Look
yourself in the eyes before it is too late! If you have no self-respect,
no respect for your sex, try at least to respect the rights of those
little souls you've brought into the world without their asking. O, yes,
cry!... Crocodile tears and alcoholic drool!... It's a mistake to
believe that all women have the maternal instinct ... so have female
cats and dogs--and rabbits." ...
I had risen as my fury sought to master me. I stood beside the bed
looking down at her ... making an ineffectual last-ditch fight for my
self-control. Something about the woman ... the very quality of her
night-dress--the heavily jewelled fingers--maddened me. The poison
coursed through my veins like quick-silver ... once before in my life I
had felt it ... before my boy was born ... _then_ I had succumbed to a
desire to wreak physical vengeance ... the same madness seized me now
... I saw her shrink from me....
"O, you--_you_ ----!"
... I didn't say it; I caught myself in time. The blood stained my face
with shame--shame with the very coarseness of the thought; shame with
the whole revolting situation. Was I, too, become impregnated with the
corroding influence of my environment? I turned and walked toward the
door. As I reached for the knob, it opened and some one entered
abruptly. I jumped aside to avoid being struck.
I knew who he was though I had never seen him before. The next moment I
had reached for his hand and grasped it impulsively, at the same time
laying a warning finger on my lips and indicating the bed.
"O, Mr. F., you don't know how glad I am to see you. We've been worried
to death ... she's asleep now, after the most racking night ... do you
mind not waking her for the present?... of course if you'd rather ..." I
waited while he looked at the figure of his wife, lying helpless with
her face to the wall, while his eyes roved to question those of the
sister, then back to mine with the single word:
"Sick?... How long has she been sick?"
"Ever since we arrived here; it's the grippe, I think, though we
couldn't induce her to see a doctor. She's been so upset at not hearing
from you.... Do you mind stepping into the hall where we can talk more
freely without danger of disturbing her?... Edith will call us if she
awakens, won't you, Edith?" ...
* * * * *
Edith did not call. The hall was draughty; I managed a sneeze. Mr. F.
suggested that we go down to the grill and have a drink. In the elevator
I saw him glance furtively at me.... I was humming softly to myself. I
watched his eyes in the mirror; they had a confused look not unmixed
with suspicion. Not until after the second cocktail did he thaw a bit.
He asked me whether I had dined. I told him I had not. After he had
ordered, he leaned back in his chair and gave me a penetrating look. I
met his eyes and smiled a little.
"You look tired," I said.
"I am--rather. These sleeper jumps take it out of a fellow."
"They surely do ... and I presume you've been worried to death about
Fannie." The name slipped glibly from my lips. He shot me a quick glance
which told me the familiar use of his wife's name had been effective. He
shifted uneasily in his seat as he answered.
"Well, yes----"
"We have been fairly living on the long distance telephone trying to
reach you. What on earth was the trouble? Edith received Fannie's
telegram a minute after you called her up and when she tried to reach
you--well, she couldn't, that's all...."
"There was something the matter with the connection ... it's been off
for several days ..." he replied.
"Of course we could have telegraphed but we didn't want to alarm you," I
went on, meeting his own brave lie with another. "As a matter of fact I
think we all were more scared than hurt. Fannie had had a cold while we
were still in Chicago--that's a trying climate in the winter. Then when
we reached Cleveland, there wasn't much of an improvement in the matter
of weather and I felt a bit guilty in having urged her to go with us." I
toyed with, the celery and wiped off imaginary soot.
"Were you in Cleveland?"
I looked up at him in mild surprise.
"Why, of course. It was at my invitation that Fannie accompanied us. She
was bored to death in Chicago ... it must be deadly monotonous--this
same routine day after day ... the same faces and nothing new to talk
about.... You know--you know if you were my husband I shouldn't let you
run away on hunting trips and leave me behind.... I don't think you men
realize how stupid it becomes with no change of menu--as it were...."
I reproved him with a smile. For the first time his eyes sent back a
glint of warmth.
"How long have you known Fannie? It's odd that I've never--had the
pleasure of meeting you before." (The pleasure was an after-thought.)
"O ... I've known Fannie for ... let me see ... nearly three years...."
(I made a mental note of this for "Fannie's" benefit.) "We met when Will
played Chicago two seasons since. We took quite a fancy to each other,
and last winter when she came to New York we went about together and
became quite good friends.... I presume you were away on one of your
hunting trips last winter ... naughty sir ... that's the reason I didn't
meet you.... This trip I brought Boy to Chicago.... You haven't seen my
young son, have you? You must make his acquaintance to-morrow. We're
most awfully vain about him ... think he's the only boy in the world. I
suppose you feel that way about your little girls ... they _are_
beauties. They've got your eyes, though they have inherited Fannie's
regular features...."
Would my tongue never stop wagging? What manner of woman had I suddenly
become? I did not recognize myself. Was it a case of self-hypnosis and
was I really feeling the interest and friendliness I pretended? He was
not precisely an Adonis; there was something rough, almost uncouth,
about him in spite of the veneer his money had brought. But there was a
kindliness, a wholesouledness that made itself felt. Under any other
conditions I should have liked him.... I saw him look at his watch.
"What time is it?... The performance will soon be over and Mr. Hartley
will wonder where I am.... Wouldn't he be surprised to walk in here and
see me dining with a strange man?... I hope you're not afraid of getting
yourself talked about...."
"No, I guess not," he laughed back. I was silent for a time, while I
wrestled with the breast of a squab. I felt his eyes upon me. When I
looked at him I saw that he was revolving something in his mind, and I
sensed the subject. I gave him time to think it over. After a while I
leaned back in my chair.
"I'm sorry to confess it, but I'm beginning to feel a bit tired," I
sighed. "Even your genial presence will not keep my eyes open much
longer.... Edith I'm sure is feeling the strain, too. Well, we'll all
sleep better to-night--after our worry. 'All's well that ends well'--and
that reminds me--my husband and I were admiring a set of Shakespeare you
have in your library."
"Um--yes; I remember it. I bought it for the binding. Don't believe I
ever saw the inside of it...." He freshened my glass of wine.
"You're not much of a drinker, are you?"
"Haven't got brains enough to stand it," I answered flippantly.
He laughed; it had a true ring to it.
The game was in my hands.
"I guess you mean you've got brains enough to _with_stand it."
Would the dinner never come to an end? I thought. My body seemed to grow
old with the minutes. At last the waiter cleared the table. When he had
gone for a liqueur, Mr. F. took some letters from his pocket. From the
packet he selected a piece of printed matter. He laid it face down upon
the table while he replaced the letters. Then he looked at me, drumming
with his fingers over the spot where the clipping lay. The waiter
returned. Mr. F. drained the cognac glass and called for another. While
it was being brought he folded his arms upon the table and leaned toward
me.
"I wonder whether I'd better show you something...."
I assumed the same attitude; it was conducive to confidence.
"Show me what?"
His drumming became louder.
"No, I guess I won't!" ...
"Now, I call that unkind--to pique my curiosity and leave me suspended
in mid-air."
He folded the clipping and rattled it between his fingers.
"Is that what you were going to show me? Wait a moment." ... I leaned
toward him to better examine the paper, then relaxed against the back of
the chair and smiled.
"I think I know what it is.... Will you lay me a wager? What will you
wager that I can guess what that paper is the very first time?"
He sprawled and tilted back his chair good-naturedly.
"O, I'll bet you a box of candy or a bunch of violets."
"A five-pound box of candy--I don't like violets. Agreed?"
He nodded.
"It's a clipping from the Club Window...."
"Then you've seen it?"
"Of course I've seen it, silly man--hasn't everybody seen it? And wasn't
my Willy furiously angry? He wanted to take the first train back to
Chicago and clear out the whole establishment. It was all Fannie and I
could do to calm him.... He said he was going to see you about it
because he thought you and he should get together and take some kind of
action against the slanderous sheet. I tell him he's foolish to pay any
attention to it; just let it die of inanition. Don't you think so?"
"Well, I was a little upset myself when I read it. I didn't know what
the devil to think...."
"Well, I know you've got too much sense to believe anything wrong about
your wife.... I can appreciate how you and Will feel about it and that
you'd like to make them retract--but--isn't it best to ignore it?--so
long as _we_ know it's a malicious lie.... It's a shocking thing the way
the press in this country construes license for freedom.... The libel
laws are wholly inadequate. They manage that sort of thing much better
in England.... There are so many evil-minded people in the world--don't
you find it so?"
"Well, I confess, there's always somebody hanging around anxious to
disseminate gossip, though I've never observed any of them helping along
the nice things you hear."
"Now that we are on the subject, I'll tell you how this happened; the
woman who concocted that libellous attack is an ugly perverted
creature--she must be perverted or she would not be earning her
livelihood in such a questionable way, don't you think so? Several years
ago when she met my husband she volunteered to write some nice little
personalia about him. He wasn't as well known then as now and every
little bit helps, you know.... Well, Will kept up a desultory
acquaintance with the woman and saw her from time to time. She was in
New York when Fannie was there last winter, by the way. I don't know
just how it came about, but the spinster scribbler developed a jealous
streak and upbraided Will for being ungrateful for all she had done for
him. I'm sure she could not have done a great deal for anyone in a
wretched paper like the Club Window. To tell you the truth she was
infatuated with Will. To use his own words--she made a play for him and
he threw her down hard! Mr. Hartley is not given to that sort of
thing--and if he were--you may be sure I should have something to say
about it." I nodded sententiously.
"Yes, I guess you'd make it pretty warm for any poacher on your
preserves!" We both laughed. I believe I even jerked my head pertly to
mark my cocksureness. And, as I turned away, my eyes settled upon Will.
He was standing in the doorway, evidently having just entered, since he
still wore his overcoat and carried his hat in his hand. I half-rose. My
host followed my move.
"It's Will--it's Mr. Hartley ... come in, Will...." I beckoned to him
and stole a glance at Mr. F. No, there was no hesitation on his part. He
rose and crossed to meet Will with outstretched hand. My hand shook so
that I could hardly raise the wine glass to my lips. I drained the last
drop and sank into my chair. The game was won....
* * * * *
It was nearly an hour later when I rose to leave the table. Will had
eaten the supper which Mr. F. had insisted upon ordering and they were
still calling for wine. I had steered the conversation clear of the
perilous rocks and felt that I could now safely leave the two men
together. They rose with me.
"I'm sorry to leave such delightful company--I believe I said something
like that an hour ago, did I not, Mr. F.?... I want to drop in on Edith
and make my peace with her. I fear she'll feel neglected. If you require
my services during the night please don't hesitate to ring me up, though
I feel sure Fannie will be ever so much better now that you've arrived.
I presume you two gentlemen want to talk things over--that wretched
slander, I mean--only--" and at this point I assumed a mock-serious
attitude--"don't do anything until you hear from me, will you?... Now,
please don't move.... I'll find my way.... Good-night, sir ... and don't
forget that you owe me five pounds of the best candy in Cincinnati."
When I reached Mrs. F.'s room, her sister had already opened the door.
She had heard the elevator stop and was waiting. The girl's face was
drawn and the circles under the eyes had deepened. Mrs. F., too, showed
the strain of waiting.
"Mr. F. and my husband are downstairs; they were exchanging funny
stories when I left ... there will be no pistols--nor a divorce on this
count ... now, if you have another spell of hysterics I think I shall
kill you.... Edith ... we had better begin calling each other 'dearie'
and that sort of thing to accustom ourselves, for we've known each other
three years ... please repeat it after me so that you won't forget
it.... Edith, should you mind pouring me a dose of Fannie's valerian?...
I think I took a wee drop too much ... my teeth are fairly chattering
... now let me think.... I'll begin at the moment we left the room
together ... please don't interrupt unless there is something you do not
grasp ... he may come at any moment...."
* * * * *
I went to the telephone directly I entered my room and called for the
room clerk. I told him I wanted another room on the same floor. While I
waited for the bell-boy to bring the key I wrote a note and pinned it on
the mirror where it would attract Will's attention. "I have gone to
another room. Don't disturb me, please. We'll talk it over to-morrow."
When I had turned the key in the lock and had surveyed my own domain I
felt strangely light in the head. I opened a window and mechanically
arranged my toilet articles. Then I disrobed, unpinned my hair and
cleansed my face with cold cream. At least, I _assume_ that I did all
these, for the next day, when I awoke to consciousness, everything was
in place, my hair was braided in two pig-tails, and my face still
showed traces of cold cream. From the moment I had locked myself in I
had no recollection of what followed. The doctor called it "syncope."