Dick was in the side-yard transplanting some cannas along the house.
"Hello, where have you been all day?" he greeted her.
"At May's house," Gloria answered briefly.
Dick ran up the front steps and opened the door for her. He followed
her into the house.
He asked her how May was. He told her that Mrs. Gordon had
telephoned an invitation to spend the day with her, to-morrow.
But Gloria knew that that was not what he had come into the house to
say.
He said it leaning up against the newel-post at the foot of the
stairs, nervously tapping the trowel he still held, on the polished
wood.
"Doc Seymour thinks I ought to go away for a rest," he said. "How
would you like to go with me to the mountains for a couple of weeks,
or so? It would do us both good."
Gloria's eyes narrowed.
"Is your mother going along, by any chance?" she asked, biting off
the words, like little bits of ice.
"We-ll, Doc Seymour thinks she ought to go along," he began. "She's
not getting over her operation as well as he hoped...."
Gloria interrupted him, snappishly. "Is she going?" she asked
sharply. "Now don't hedge, Dick! She is going, isn't she?"
"I don't see how I can very well tell her you don't want her with
us," he said. "After all, she's my mother, Gloria."
"Well, go with her, then! But count me out!" Gloria cried
passionately. "I wouldn't go to the most wonderful place on earth
with your mother, Dick. I can't stand her!"
Angry tears sprang to her eyes. But she brushed them away with the
back of her hand, and ran upstairs.
She went into the little taffeta-hung room that had been hers since
the beginning of Dick's illness. She locked the door behind her.
In a moment Dick was there, rattling the knob.
"Open the door, Gloria," he pleaded, "and we'll talk this thing over
sensibly.... What's the use of your taking it this way? Even if
Mother goes with us, you won't have to see much of her.... Open the
door please!"
"Oh, dry up and blow away!" Gloria answered crossly. "I'm not going
to talk about it any more! You go with your precious mother, and
I'll find something to amuse me here ... never fear!"
She stopped suddenly. She had just found the letter! Stanley
Wayburn's letter! ... There it stood, propped up against a tall
perfume bottle on her dresser, where she would be sure to see it.
With shaking fingers, she ripped open the cheap, white envelope.
"Dear Russet," the letter read. "I trust this letter will find you
well and happy. After I sent the old farmer to get you the day of
the accident, I beat it. I thought you were dead when I saw you
lying under the car, and I knew if I stayed I'd be mixed up in a
scandal. Believe me, I was glad when I heard that you'd only had a
few broken bones. If any one happened to find my silver cigarette
case, will you send it to me?
"As always, S.W."
Below the letter he had penciled his address.
He was living on Forty-second street, in New York.
Forty-second street! The words brought to Gloria a sudden vision of
electric lights, dashing taxicabs, gay crowds of people, red-striped
awnings before restaurant entrances...!
Her breath caught in her throat. How she would love to be there!
Part of the movement, the color, the riot, the noise!
There was corned beef for dinner that night ... corned beef with
horse-radish sauce and boiled cabbage.
"I hate corned beef!" Gloria exclaimed when the meal was almost over,
"I wish you'd give me a little more money to keep house on, Dick.
Then we wouldn't have to eat this horrible stuff, just because it's
cheap!"
Dick laid down his knife and fork on his plate. He looked across the
table at Gloria thoughtfully.
"That reminds me," he said. "Miss Briggs said she let you have $200
of mine while I was sick to spend on the backyard. I'm afraid I'll
have to ask you for that money, Gloria.... We can't afford to spend
it just now. That's why I'm trying to fix the place up, myself."
Under the tablecloth, Gloria's hands were twisting and untwisting
themselves frantically.
She tried to open her mouth to speak. But she couldn't make up her
mind what to say.
What could she say? What was there to say?
She had given up all hope of Wayburn's paying back the money!
She sat silent, looking at Dick with her great brown eyes fixed and
staring. Then she began to cry. Tears always distressed Dick
horribly, she knew.
He got up and came around the table to her. He drew her up from her
chair, and out of the room. He led her to the davenport in the
living-room and pushed her down into its velvety depths.
"Poor little thing!" he said, "are you afraid to tell me what you did
with the money? ... You spent it, didn't you?"
Gloria nodded, sobbing against Dick's breast.
"There, there, don't cry," he said. "It doesn't matter, honey. I
wouldn't have mentioned it to you, only we're dead-broke. I'd have
given it to you for hats and things, if I weren't right down to rock
bottom!"
Gloria wiped her eyes, and looked up at him.
"Then, where are you going to get the money to go away on your trip?"
she asked. "I should think you'd go right back to work to-morrow, if
you're down to your last dollar! Instead of planning an expensive
trip!"
Dick groaned despairingly as he dropped into his armchair.
"That's what I'd like to do ... get back to work," he said, "but Doc
Seymour won't let me go back into the office until I've put on ten
pounds. He says I'll go all to pieces if I do."
He cleared his throat and went on with difficulty.
"I'm going to mortgage the house," he said. "You see, I've just got
to get some money to tide us over 'til I start earning again. Gosh,
I hate to put a plaster on it, too, but I guess it can't be helped.
We've had a pretty tough run of luck, lately, you and I ... haven't
we, sweetheart?"
Gloria nodded. She patted the bandage across her aching shoulder.
"I should say we have!" she answered.
"By the way, what's become of Wayburn?" Dick asked. "I still have
that cigarette case of his. I ought to give it to him."
"You can't," Gloria answered. "He's left town."
The moment she had said it she could have bitten off her tongue for
her stupidity.
"Hmm!" Dick mused, "that's so, ... A letter came for you from New
York to-day. I told Ranghild to put it on your dresser. Did you get
it?"
"Yes," Gloria faltered. "I did."
"Who writes you letters from New York?" Dick asked
Gloria could feel Wayburn's letter inside her blouse, where she had
slipped it. It crackled against her flesh with every breath she drew.
... There really was nothing inside the letter that she couldn't show
Dick, she was sure.
It was as harmless a letter as ever had been written.
There was not a single word in it to suggest that it had been penned
by a lover to the lady of his dreams.
Gloria pulled it from her dress and handed it to Dick.
"Here, read it yourself," she said. "It's from Stan Wayburn."
But Dick didn't read it. He didn't open it. He hardly touched it
... just long enough to toss it down on the teak-wood table at the
end of the davenport.
His face was white under the light of the tall lamp that stood there.
"So?" he questioned. "My wife carries Wayburn's letter against her
heart?"
Gloria laughed.
"Dick, you're absurd," she said. "I never thought of its being
against my heart. I stuck it into my blouse, so Ranghild wouldn't
find it and read it."
"I see," Dick said. But his face was grim. He sat down in his
armchair, and filled his pipe. He picked up the book he was reading.
Then he laid it down upon his knees.
"Gloria," he said abruptly. "Tell me the truth for once in your
life.... Are you or are you not in love with Wayburn?"
"I don't know," Gloria answered. She had asked herself that question
a thousand times. And she never answered it the same way twice.
"That's nonsense," Dick went on impatiently. "You must know how you
feel about him! ... Tell me this: you don't care about me, any more,
do you?"
Gloria looked across the room at him with the calm eyes of the
Sphinx, herself. But his question had set thoughts to buzzing like
bees in her head.
How much did she care about Dick?
Would she miss him if he went away from her as she missed Stanley
Wayburn?
She wondered.
She felt Dick as something trustworthy, honest and good beyond
measure. Good all the way through.... That was Dick.
But did she love him?
"I don't know, Dick," Gloria said at last.
She sat up straight, pulling herself together like a woman who had
something to say and meant to say it now!
"I'll try to tell you how I feel about you, if I can, Dick," she
said. "To begin with, I hate housework. I hate having to run this
house for you. It makes me sick and tired. And sometimes I almost
hate you for marrying me and turning me into a housewife!"
Dick gave a short laugh.
"Bah!" he said. "You a housewife! That's pretty good, Gloria. You
haven't done a day's housework in your whole life! How do you know
whether you hate it or not?"
Gloria waved his words aside.
"Now don't interrupt me!" she snapped at him. "When I married you, I
was awfully tired of office work. I was tired of playing around with
fellows who didn't want to get married.... And you looked awfully
good to me. See?"
Dick nodded.
"I see perfectly," he said. "You wanted to marry Wayburn, but he
didn't want to marry you. I came along, and you thought I had a lot
of money. So you married me. Isn't that it?"
Gloria shook her head so that every curl on it quivered.
"No, no. That wasn't it," she said quickly. "I'm not such a
gold-digger as all that! But I knew you'd be awfully good to me if I
married you. And ... you know I did care for you, Dick, don't you?"
Dick puffed his pipe in silence. He passed his hand across his
forehead, cold and wet with sweat.
"Was Wayburn ever in love with you?" he asked.
"I thought he was once," Gloria answered, "but I found out that he
wasn't."
She got up and came across the room to Dick. She sat down on the arm
of his chair and put her face down against his hair.
"Dick," she said, "I know that Stan's whole body isn't worth your
little finger. He's not good like you are.... But I do miss him!
He's a lot of fun. I love to dance and jazz around with him. He's
my kind...."
Dick held himself together hard. "All right, all right," he said.
"I've heard all I can stand to hear about Wayburn. But he's gone
now, thank God! You and I can make a fresh start, can't we?"
"I hope so," Gloria answered uncertainly.
Dick pulled her down onto his knees and held her away from him by
both arms. His eyes searched her face.
"Gloria," he said, "while I'm away these next two or three weeks, I
want you to think things over. We've been married six months, and
we've done nothing but bicker and quarrel.... I can't live like
that. This Wayburn business has been the last straw. It's just
about finished me!"
Gloria looked at him in surprise.
She didn't mind a good quarrel. She rather liked it.
In fact, she enjoyed a scene! It was exciting, if nothing more. She
was excited now.
"I don't want you to live with me unless you love me," Dick went on.
"I couldn't stand that. So you think it over and make up your mind
what you want to do while I'm gone. Will you?"
Gloria widened her eyes in astonishment.
"Do you mean to say you're going away and leave me at home alone,
Dick Gregory?" she cried. She got up from his knees.
"I thought you said you didn't want to go?" Dick answered.
"I said I wouldn't go if your mother went with us," Gloria explained.
"And you've just got to tell her she can't go with us!" She stamped
her foot.
"I'm sorry, but she's made all her plans to go. She doesn't think
for a minute that we don't want her," Dick said anxiously. "How in
the deuce can I tell her that we don't want her to go, sick as she
is? It would break her heart."
Gloria smiled maliciously.
"All right, dearie," she said smoothly. "You go with your mother and
leave me here alone, if you want to.... You do it, and believe me,
you'll be sorry for it to your dying day!"
Dick groaned in despair.
"Oh, have a heart, Gloria," he said. "How can you be so cruel to a
woman as old and sick as my mother?"
"I suppose I'm not sick, myself!" Gloria cried. "I suppose I haven't
been in the hospital myself, for weeks! ... She doesn't need this
rest a bit more than I do. Not a bit!"
Dick made no answer.
"If she goes, I don't!" Gloria blazed at him. "I wouldn't go
anywhere with her on a bet! Everything I did or said, all the time
we were gone, she'd razz me for.... Oh, I know her! ... And you'll
just have to choose between us, Mr. Man!"
Dick sat silent for a few minutes, puffing at his little brier pipe.
Then he got up, put on his hat, and went out doors. He always went
for a long walk, by himself, when he was upset or troubled about
anything.
Gloria stood still in the middle of the room. A smile across her
face ... the slow, sly smile of Mona Lisa.
"Dick'd never leave me home for two or three weeks," she said to
herself. "He's crazy about me!"
She went upstairs and began to sort out the clothes she would need
for the trip. She was sure she was going....
There was a surprise in store for her.
On Saturday morning, Dick and Mother Gregory went away on an early
morning train!
Up to the last moment Dick had begged Gloria to go along. And up to
the last moment Gloria had refused to go.
"Not with your mother!" she had said over and over. She was sure
that, in the end, Dick would take her instead of his mother.
Even now as she stood at her bedroom window, watching his cab turn
the corner of the street, she couldn't believe that he had gone and
left her behind.
Thunderstruck, she pounded the frame of the window with her clenched
hands, in a fit of rage.
"Oh, I hate him! I hate him!" she cried. "He'll be sorry for this!"
A knock came at the door. Ranghild stood there.
"Did you call me, ma'am?" she asked. "I thought I heard your voice."
"No.... Yes!" Gloria said. "Telephone the station, please, to see
what time the next train for New York leaves."
She bathed and dressed in a fever of speed. She packed a suitcase.
Before she had finished Ranghild came upstairs with the coffee tray.
Standing by the dresser, Gloria gulped down two cups of the hot,
satisfying drink, and nibbled a piece of toast.
"My last meal in this house!" she told herself, angrily.
She took her purse from the top drawer of her dressing-table. There
was $95 in it that Dick had given her to pay the food bills for the
month.
Downstairs in the drawer of her little desk, there was another $5
bill that she had put aside for a beauty treatment.
Gloria ran down to get it. She sat at the desk and wrote a note to
Dick.
"Good-by," she scribbled. "I told you, you'd have to choose between
your mother and me. And I guess you've chosen. So I'm off in a
flutter of dust. I was the wrong wife for you, anyway. You should
have married some nice, homely woman like Miss Briggs."
Gloria did not sign the cruel little note. She put it into an
envelope and laid it on the table under Dick's ash tray where he
would be sure to see it when he came home.
"Ranghild," she called as she heard the girl in the hall outside.
"I'm going away. When Mr. Gregory comes back from his vacation, show
him this letter I'm leaving here for him."
"Oh, ma'am!" said Ranghild, clasping her hands together. She was
sure that something was wrong. "I hope you come back soon!"
Gloria pretended not to see the distress in her eyes. She picked up
her bag, and hurried past her.
She closed the door of the house behind her.
"Good-by to Sing-Sing prison!" she said, looking back at it, as she
went down the street.