"What have you done to your face?" were Stan's first words of
greeting as she drove up beside him.
"Oh, I didn't do it. It was done to me," Gloria laughed, rubbing a
finger across her darkened eyebrows. "Marie, the beauty specialist,
says I'm not pretty enough to suit her. So she fixed me up. How do
you like me this way?"
"I don't," Wayburn answered bluntly. "I don't know where all you
girls get this idea that we men like to see you all colored up like a
barber pole."
"Men hate cheeks of chalk," Gloria quoted glibly.
"They hate cheeks of sun-proof paint, too," Wayburn said stubbornly.
"Oh, I know that. There's no pleasing you men!" Gloria answered.
"If we're pale you want us rosy. And if we're rosy, you want us to
be pale! Dick wants a home-making wife, so he marries me ... and I'm
a gadfly."
She stopped suddenly, struck by an arresting thought.
"Stan," she said, "what kind of a woman would you want for a wife?"
"None at all," Wayburn answered.
"Not even one with money? You always said you'd marry a woman if she
had money enough, you remember," Gloria said.
"I know, but I've a hunch I'm going to make money myself from now
on," the actor told her with one of his infrequent bursts of
frankness. "This New York engagement looks pretty good to me. At
least, Sonya Chotek says it is a good thing."
"Sonya Chotek!" Gloria exclaimed. "Do you mean to say she found this
job for you?"
Jealousy swept over her like a wave of heat from a furnace.
Wayburn nodded.
"She suggested to the manager of the show ... Mangold, his name is
... that I'd do for the leading man," he said easily. "So I'm going
on for the try-out. Of course, I may be a blooming failure. You
never can tell."
Gloria was silent. She would never have given Stan that $200 if she
had known he was going down to New York to Sonya Chotek with it!
They were out in the open country now.
The day was perfect. Here and there the white sail of a cloud
floated across the dark, blue sky.
There were dandelions in the tangle of wild grass that edged the red
brick pavement.
And in the budding branches of the trees robins were singing that
song of theirs that is as sweet and cold and gay as spring itself.
Gloria stopped her car at the edge of the road.
"What's the matter now?" Wayburn asked.
"Nothing," Gloria answered. "Only if you don't like my face this way
I'm going to change it."
She took out a small handkerchief and began to rub the mascara from
her eyes and the rouge from her cheeks.
Wayburn lifted the shadowy brim of her hat at one side and looked at
her. He saw that she was crying.
"Well, what's the matter with you?" he asked.
Gloria went on crying quietly. Then, presently, she dried her tears
on a little wet ball of a cambric handkerchief. She looked up at
Wayburn with wet, red-rimmed eyes.
"How can I help crying?" she asked. "It's bad enough to think of
your going away--but to think that you're going where that Chotek
woman is...."
Oh, it was too much! Gloria burst into fresh sobs.
Wayburn put his arm around her. There was a look of annoyance in his
eyes. Nothing in the world bored him quite so much as a woman in
tears. It robbed her of all the beauty that made her a thrilling
companion.
"Oh, come, come, Russet!" he said impatiently. "Only a few days ago
you were ready and willing never to see me again! How come you've
changed your mind so soon? I never know where I stand with you!"
Gloria drew a long sobbing breath.
"If you had my mind you'd want to change it, too," she said. "It's
driving me crazy. I try to put you out of it ... but you keep coming
back. I've done my best not to think of you for weeks.... Oh, what
am I going to do when you're gone?"
Wayburn patted her shoulder comfortingly.
"Well, I'm not so happy about leaving you, little Russet," he said.
"But let's forget it. This may be the last day we'll ever have
together. Let's make the most of it!"
He opened Gloria's bag and took out her little vanity case. He
powdered her nose and chin with the expertness of an actor who
understands make-up perfectly.
Gloria could smell whisky on his breath. She leaned away from him
and started the little car.
"That's right, step on her! A fast ride and a merry one, eh, what,
Russet?" Wayburn asked. He lit a cigarette. "Want a puff, Baby?"
Gloria took a few puffs. Then she made a grimace of distaste and
handed Wayburn the cigarette.
"You know, Dick's made me cut out cigarettes around home," she said.
"And I guess I'm losing my taste for them."
Wayburn laughed.
"If you're not careful Dick will make a good woman of you yet," he
said. "Doesn't he let you take a drink any more, either?"
"I'll tell the cock-eyed world he doesn't. Not if he sees me first!"
Gloria answered.
"Tough luck for you," Stan sympathized.
He took a leather-covered flask from his hip pocket and unscrewed the
top of it.
"No use my asking you to have a drink of this then," he said
cheerfully. He winked at her and tilted the flask against his lips.
Gloria watched him through her eyelashes.
He was darkly flushed and there was a twisted smile on his mouth.
"Don't take any more for a while, Stan," Gloria begged. "You had
quite a slant on when I met you to-day. Don't take any more, please!"
Her voice sounded flat and faint in her own ears. Wayburn didn't
answer.
"You don't ever need a drink, really, anyway," Gloria went on
nervously. "You have plenty of pep without it. I guess you were
born 'hooched' ... And you do drink too much! You'll wind up in the
Old Soaks' home if you don't watch your step!"
"All right, Carrie Nation, you take a drink, then, and help me get
rid of the stuff," Stan suggested sullenly.
He was scowling.
"Now, Stan, don't tempt the driver. She's got to keep her wits about
her," Gloria said soothingly.
"One little swig won't hurt you," Stan went on stubbornly. He
offered her the flask. "Come on, be a sport!"
Gloria shook her head.
"I never drink when I'm driving," she said.
"Well, this is one time when you're going to!" Wayburn's voice was
thick.
Abruptly he gripped her wrist. Gloria could feel his hot breath in
her face.
"Don't!" she cried. "Don't...." His mouth sealed hers with a clumsy
kiss.
Gloria got her arm between his chest and hers. She pushed him away
from her.
"You poor sap!" she almost screamed. "Don't touch me when I'm
driving! Do you want me to wreck the car? We're almost in the ditch
this minute!"
She steered the car to the middle of the road. The sun had gone
behind a cloud-bank, and a few slivers of rain gleamed on the
windshield.
"April shower," Wayburn remarked carelessly. He had sunk into the
corner of his seat. He was looking at her very hard and intensely.
His jaw hardened.
Before Gloria knew what was happening, he had her in his arms again.
He bent her head back and kissed the white lids of her eyes.
"Russet!" she heard him say between clenched teeth, "Russet, I want
you! I'd give anything I have this minute...."
Gloria forgot all about the car. All she wanted was to get Stan's
face away from her. She was frightfully afraid of him suddenly. She
raised both her hands from the steering wheel and caught him neatly
under his right jawbone.
There came a crash! The sound of splintering glass. A blinding
glare as of a thousand lightnings! Then ... darkness!
There was a roar like Niagara in Gloria's ears. And above it she
heard some one screaming like a wild animal caught in a trap. It was
the sound of her own voice.
The patter of gentle rain in her face awakened her.
She was lying in the wet road. Above her towered the little blue car
that Dick had given her for her birthday. Its wheels were in the air.
Near her on the rain-streaked clay lay Stan's little flask and his
silver cigarette case.
Gloria put out her hand to pick them up. But a sharp pain in her
shoulder stopped her. She groaned and shut her eyes with the agony
of it.
... Then she looked all around her. Where was Stan?
Could he be pinned under the wrecked car? ... Gloria's breath almost
stopped at the terrible thought.
"Stan!" she called. "Stan, where are you? Answer me!"
There was no reply ... not even an echo.
With almost super-human effort she dragged herself up on one elbow.
She looked down the wet road. Far in the distance was a man's
figure. Gloria knew it was Stan.
"I suppose he's going for help," she groaned aloud. "And he'd better
hurry! For I'm going to die if some one doesn't stop this pain
pretty soon!"
She clenched her teeth. Her whole body was a mass of red-hot pain,
that grew worse every minute.... Then the world seemed to spin away
from her. She had fainted again.
The next time Gloria opened her eyes she thought the sun was shining.
She seemed to be looking straight into it.
But after a while she saw that it wasn't the sun, after all, but a
lamp burning on a table near her. It was an oil lamp with a yellow
glass shade.
Beside it sat a little old lady with round, red cheeks, wrinkled like
winter apples. She was knitting.
"Where am I?" Gloria thought. Then, suddenly, she remembered.
She made a great effort to speak. And at last she did.
"Where's Stan?" she asked.
"Your husband? That's what we'd like to know!" the little old lady
said. She pushed her spectacles up on her forehead and peered at
Gloria.
"He came here and told me and the mister that his wife was lying dead
under the wreck of his automobile up the road, just as we was settin'
down to supper," she said. "And while the mister was getting his
coat on to go back there with him ... didn't he disappear jest as
slick as you please!"
Gloria groaned. That was just like Stan!
"The mister has telephoned to town for an ambulance. It ought to be
here for you any minute now," the old lady went on.
As she spoke there came the sound of an automobile outside the house.
Heavy footsteps came across the porch of the little farmhouse that
sheltered Gloria.
The door of the room opened and an old farmer, followed by two men
came in. The two men carried a stretcher.
Gloria screamed with pain when they picked her up and laid her on it.
She whimpered like a hurt animal all the way to town as the ambulance
jogged back over the road ... the same road that she and Stan had
traveled that afternoon.
When Gloria opened her eyes again she was lying in the bright, white
receiving room of a hospital.
Two nurses were with her. One was gently taking off Gloria's
mud-stained clothes. The other stood beside her with a pad and
pencil.
"What's your name?" she asked.
Gloria hesitated.
"Gloria Gregory," she said at last.
"Nearest relative?" asked the nurse.
Gloria gave her mother's name and address.
Then she began to cry.
"I want my mother!" she sobbed. "I want my mother.... And tell her
for heaven's sake to find out what's happened to Stan!"
She hated to think of Stan in his wild, intoxicated state, wandering
around the dark country roads.
"Who's Stan? Your hubby?" the nurse asked.
"No," Gloria said. She closed her eyes.
Gloria was asleep when her mother arrived at the hospital.
Mrs. Gordon and the floor nurse sat at the foot of her bed talking in
low tones.
"She won't wake up for a while," the nurse said. "We gave her a
sleeping powder."
Gloria's mother clasped her hands tightly together.
"You're sure she's not seriously hurt?" she asked for the third time.
"Well, her collar bone's broken and she's pretty well bruised," the
nurse answered, for the third time, also. "But she's not going to
die, of course."
"Who is 'Stan'?" she asked, after a moment's silence. "She kept
asking about 'Stan' before she went to sleep."
Gloria's mother didn't answer.
She knew at once who "Stan" was. That had been what Gloria had
always called that good-for-nothing Wayburn!
Mrs. Gordon wondered if Gloria had been seeing Wayburn all during her
married life. She wondered if Wayburn had been with her when the car
had been wrecked that afternoon.
She stood up and looked at Gloria's face.
A year ago Gloria, in her sleep, had looked as innocent and sweet as
a baby. Mrs. Gordon had often told herself so when she had gone into
her daughter's room to tuck her up for the night.
Now that look of child-like innocence had gone. There was a new and
hard expression around the beautiful mouth.
What had brought it there, Mrs. Gordon wondered.
And as if in answer to her question, Gloria stirred in her sleep and
murmured "Stan."
An hour later she stirred again and opened her eyes. She smiled as
she saw her mother, who was sitting beside her.
"Car?" Gloria asked, after a few minutes. Her voice was drowsy.
"I guess it's pretty badly wrecked. Your dad's going to see about it
in the morning," Mrs. Gordon answered. She took the fingers of
Gloria's bandaged hand in hers.
The girl winced and drew them away.
"Stan?" she asked, after another long pause.
Mrs. Gordon shook her head.
"Was it Wayburn who was with you in the car this afternoon?" she
asked.
Gloria closed her eyes. She pretended that she was asleep SO that
she would not have to answer her mother's question.
But her pale lips quivered and a tear slid down her cheek from under
her shadowy lashes ... then another.
"She's been seeing that Wayburn again. I'm sure of it!" Mrs. Gordon
said to Gloria's father that night, as they walked home. "The nurse
says she's been calling for him ever since she came into the
hospital!"
"Do you think he was with her in the car when it turned over?" Mr.
Gordon asked.
His little Gloria! His baby girl! ... Ah, no! She wasn't the kind
of woman who ran around with men after she was married!
Not the little daughter that he and mother had raised so carefully!
... The little daughter who had learned her prayers at his knee! Not
his Gloria! There couldn't be anything bad in her!
"Mother, you don't think Wayburn was with our Gloria to-day, do you?"
he asked again.
"I'm afraid I do," Mrs. Gordon answered firmly. "I'm afraid I do!
She wouldn't answer me when I asked her about him."