But Dick was not having dinner with Susan Briggs that night.
He was not having dinner with any one.
At the very moment when Gloria was wishing Ulysses X. Forgan
good-night and good-by, he was tearing along green country lanes in
the little car he had bought for her.
He came back to town against the wind. It set the blood racing in
his veins, and burned his face. It was good to be challenged by the
wind ... to defy it with his own speed.
All day he had been "blue" ... low in his mind. Everything in his
life, lately, seemed to have gone stale and flat....
It was nine o'clock when he got back to town. He drove down the
street toward home.
"Home" these days meant his mother's perfectly ordered house.
Perfectly cooked meals ... always on time.
His ties were always pressed and folded neatly in his drawers. His
socks were always mended. There was never a single button missing
from his shirts.
But, nevertheless, there was something distinctly missing from his
life. He didn't know just what it was, either.
... As Dick swung his car into the driveway, he saw that another car
was parked there. His father and mother evidently had guests.
He backed the car out of the drive. The thought of talking to a
roomful of people was intolerable to him just then.
A half hour later he was in the kitchen of his own house. He had
tied a clean dish-towel around his waist for an apron.
He held a can opener in one hand and a tin of baked beans in the
other. And he was getting his own dinner. A wedge of Yorkstate
cheese, a loaf of rye bread, and a baker's pie were on the kitchen
table.
For this "delicatessen" meal, Dick had foregone chicken pie and
raspberry shortcake at his mother's house that night.
He had come home straight from the office to get his car. And then
he had driven out into the open country.... Like all people who are
beset with loneliness, he had wanted to be alone.
But he was cheerful enough now, puttering around his own house ...
the house where Gloria had so lately been. He ate his cold,
indigestible food with gusto. He whistled as he rinsed his dishes
and piled them up on the drainboard.
Then he took his "General Dawes" pipe from his pocket, and went into
the living-room. He switched on the lights there, and stopped short,
staring.
There was a vase of wilted roses on the table that stood beside his
armchair. They had not been there a week ago! ... His smoking-stand
was in perfect order.
And beside it on the floor lay a square of crumpled cambric ...
Gloria's handkerchief. She had been in the house! ... She had come
back! But why? ... And when?
And how had she managed to get in without a key? Dick tried the
living-room windows. They were all locked. Then he went into the
sunroom.
He saw at once the window that Gloria had pried open. There were
marks on the window sill where the clothes pole had scraped it....
Dick sat down in his armchair, and looked at the handkerchief in his
hands. The initial "G" was embroidered in one corner of it. And it
smelled faintly of mimosa flowers.
He put it against his nostrils, and the perfume of it brought back to
him the memory of Gloria so keenly that it seemed she must still be
there in the room with him!
... Dick could almost see her there, putting the long-stemmed roses
into the vase, dusting off the smoking-stand with her fluttering
little hands. He could hear her lilting voice saying
"Rikky-Tikky-Tavy, I need a new hat," or "Oh, Dick, why worry about
the bills?"
He found himself staring at the telephone on its teakwood table in
the hall.
... All he had to do was to give a number ... tell Gloria that he
wanted her. And in a few minutes she would be here. Here in his
arms!
Dick walked slowly into the hall. He picked up the telephone and
gave the familiar number of the Gordon home. He could hear Central
ringing it....
Then, resolutely, he snapped the receiver back on its hook, and set
the little instrument down on the table.
He stood there looking at it. With his hand raised to his lips, he
pressed Gloria's handkerchief hard against them.... That bit of
cambric seemed to hold some of the fragrance of her in its scented
folds. Her hair had smelled of mimosa flowers....
Dick put out his hand again for the telephone. But suddenly, he
snatched it back, as if the little black instrument had been flame.
There was subdued panic in the speed with which he snapped off the
lights, and left the house. He flung himself into the little blue
car, and backed it down the driveway.... "If I'd stayed a minute
longer, I'd have called her up ... told her to come!" he said
disgustedly to himself, as the car rolled along the road.
He took out his watch and looked at it. Ten o'clock! ... Too early
to go to bed on a moonlit night like this.
He drove aimlessly around the dark streets where the trees made black
shadows along the sides ... every street a Lovers' Lane to-night!
The same moon that had looked down on the lovers of Babylon and
Nineveh looked down on the couples that were abroad to-night ... the
immortal Two, a Man and a Girl.
And then, almost without surprise, Dick found himself turning into
the street where Gloria lived. He seemed to have known all along
that this was where he was going....
He passed the house, with his eyes straight ahead of him. But
halfway down the street, he turned in his seat and looked back at the
gray, blurred outlines of it. There was a light in the window of
Gloria's room....
The blue car slowed down and almost stopped. Its brakes screamed in
the stillness of the street.
Then, suddenly, it shot forward in salient flight. Its tail-light
winked like a small, evil eye as it turned the corner.
Not knowing whose car it was, Gloria heard it as she stood before her
dresser, getting, ready for bed.
She looked at herself in the mirror.... What was the good of all her
beauty, she wondered, when Dick wasn't there to see it?
Her hair might just as well be drab instead of red gold in all its
deep waves. And her mouth ... why should it be shaped for kisses,
when he had grown tired of kissing her? ... Gloria turned away her
head, so that she couldn't see her reflection.
She put up her hand, and turned out the light, with a vicious little
movement. Then she lay down on the bed, and tried to sleep.... It
was past midnight before she finally dropped off.
The next morning dawned to the sound of slow dropping rain on the
leaves outside her window.
She ran downstairs through the early Sunday morning hush of the house
and brought in the newspaper. The "Help Wanted" columns ... they
were what she wanted.
She went quickly through them, and marked two or three that looked
promising. She'd go downtown first thing in the morning, and find
something to do.... That was the thing, to keep busy! To keep from
thinking!
When she heard her mother moving around in the kitchen, she dressed
and hurried downstairs to help her.
"We won't have much for breakfast ... just some berries and toast and
coffee, I thought," Mrs. Gordon said. "Your Aunt Dorcas always has
such big dinners that we'll all be sick if we eat too much, now...."
With a shudder, Gloria remembered that they were going to Aunt
Dorcas' house for dinner!
At one o'clock they went. Aunt Dorcas, flushed and beaming, welcomed
them with her best manner as Head of the House. Uncle Henry, small
and silent, stood behind her.
And as Head of the House, Aunt Dorcas took her place behind the
platter of stuffed, roasted veal at the dinner table. Aunt Dorcas
always carved, just as she always drove the family car.
Cousin Lulu and her young husband, George, were there, too. The New
Baby, they explained, was taking her nap upstairs on Aunt Dorcas' bed.
"What are you going to name her?" Gloria asked innocently.
Lulu and Aunt Dorcas turned reproachful eyes upon her.
"We're going to name her Dorcas, of course," Lulu said. "Why, she's
the living image of Mother ... hair and eyes, and all!"
Once more Aunt Dorcas beamed. Even the Baby had deferred to her as
Head of the House. And all was well.
Gloria was afraid of Aunt Dorcas. "I do hope she doesn't get started
on me and Dick again," she said prayerfully to herself, as she ate
the hot cherry pie that followed the meal.
But she soon found out that what The Family had really come together
for was a council. Aunt Dorcas, with her finest military air, took
the floor the minute they were all settled in the living-room.
"Your mother tells me you've gone back to work, Gloria," she began
severely. "What's the meaning of that?"
Gloria drew in her breath. "Why shouldn't I work, Aunt?" she asked.
"I'm used to working."
"Doesn't this young Gregory intend to give you a red cent?" Aunt
Dorcas went on with her investigation.
"He's sent me money ... but I gave it back to him. I didn't want
it," Gloria answered in a low tone. She could feel the blood rising
to her cheeks.
Aunt Dorcas looked at her with disgust. "Well, you are easy," she
exclaimed, "to let a man treat you the way Dick Gregory has.... And
then to let him go scot-free without giving you any money at all!
You are a ninny!"
Gloria said nothing.
"What are you going to do about it?" her aunt prodded her. "Don't
you realize that it's no more than right that you should take his
money. You're his wife!"
"Yes, and if Gloria divorces Dick she ought to get good, fat
alimony!" Cousin Lulu broke in shrilly. "She's a fool not to start
suit to-morrow!"
Gloria felt her mother's tender, wounded eyes pass over her. She
heard her voice, soft and low after Aunt Dorcas' strident tones.
"No, there won't be any divorce," that soft voice said. "Such a
thing as divorce has never been in this family.... There isn't
anything for Gloria to do that I can see...."
"There are several things she can do!" declared Aunt Dorcas. She was
like a lawyer giving an opinion. "She can sue young Gregory for
alimony. Or she can go back to him if she wants to."
She stopped suddenly. Gloria had risen and she stood facing them
with fiery cheeks and eyes that were too bright.
"Haven't I told you before that's the one thing I can't do!" she
cried out. "I've been on my knees to Dick to take me back, if you
must know! And he won't have me back! He's sick and tired of me!
Don't I know...."
Aunt Dorcas nodded her large blond head. "Then there's more to this
affair of yours than anybody knows," she remarked sagely. "People
don't separate unless one of 'em is in love with somebody else...."
She studied Gloria with her prominent blue eyes, as if she could read
her thoughts if only she looked at her long enough.
The girl knew she couldn't bear to be in the room a moment longer.
It was none of her aunt's business whether she took money from Dick
or earned it typewriting!
And it certainly was nobody's affair whether she lived with Dick, but
his and hers....
She looked from her aunt to her cousin Lulu with hostile eyes. "They
don't want to help me, anyway," she told herself the brutal truth,
"They just want to find out all my business ... so they can talk me
over afterward!"
She turned swiftly toward the wide doorway that led out into the hall
of the house. "I've got to go," she said wildly. "I promised May
Seymour I'd go for a walk with her...."
It wasn't until she was out on the sidewalk that she realized that
May Seymour wasn't in town ... probably never would be in town again!
"Oh, well, what if they do know that I fibbed to them?" she thought,
furiously. "People who pry into every one's business don't deserve
the truth...."
But she hated herself for lying.
She walked slowly away from the house where The Family were still
holding their counsel. She imagined her Aunt Dorcas' rich voice
saying: "Well, Gloria's having what old Aunt Fanny used to call the
'high strikes'! She's always so excitable. Can't talk over anything
calmly!"
Glad of her escape, and soothed by her long walk in the sunshine,
Gloria turned into the park.
There were the usual Sunday crowds here scattering newspapers,
bread-crusts and egg-shells from their picnic baskets on the
yellow-green grass.
With her eyes on the dusty, blinding ground, she walked on through
the intense midsummer heat. At last she found an empty bench under a
lilac tree, and sank down upon it, exhausted. She closed her eyes....
She dreamed that she was in the hall of her own house ... her house
and Dick's ... and that he was there with her.
But between them, there seemed to be a high wall of fog. And in her
dream, Gloria was trying to pull the wall down, while Dick watched
her ... gravely, just as he might have stood, looking at her, had the
dream been life, itself.
The sense of his nearness was so real to Gloria that when she wakened
and opened her eyes, suddenly, she wasn't startled by the man who
stood beside her bench. It was Dick, himself!
"You!" Gloria said to him, thickly. "I was just dreaming about you
... I guess I was asleep."
"You guess you were? You know you were!" Dick answered. "If I had
been a thief I could have got away with this." He handed her her
little bead bag which had dropped to the ground.
"I suppose it's full of your week's wages," he added, dropping down
onto the bench beside her. "Or didn't you get a job? Were you just
bluffing me when you said you were going back to work?"
"Did you ever hear of Ulysses X. Forgan?" Gloria asked, turning her
soft eyes to Dick.
He nodded. "Of course.... Everybody in town knows Forgan. Rich old
duck," he answered. "Why do you ask?"
"Because I was his stenographer all last week," Gloria explained
simply. "Did you really think I was drawing the long bow when I said
I was going back to work?"
Dick said nothing.
"I quit my job yesterday, however," Gloria added. She waited for
Dick to ask her why she had given up her position. She wanted to
tell him how Ulysses X. had come to court her ... so that he'd know
she was attractive to other men even if her own husband no longer
cared to live with her!
But he remained silent, staring straight ahead of him at a bed of
dusty, tired-looking flowers.
Gloria wanted to lean over and stroke his hand. But on second
thought she decided against it. He looked so stern.
"Poor Dick!" she said suddenly, "We've made a fine hash of things,
haven't we?"
At that he turned and spoke. "We?" he asked.
"I ... I've made a wreck of your life," Gloria corrected herself.
"You might have had a nice wife to love you, and children...."
Dick gave a short laugh, and lapsed into silence again.
"What you really should have done," Gloria went on thoughtfully, "was
to marry Susan Briggs. She's an awfully nice, good woman even if she
is terribly homely. And she would have made you comfortable and
contented to her dying day ... or yours. Wouldn't she?"
Dick concealed a smile. "Susan's not so terribly homely," he said.
"I think she's rather above the average in looks. Yes, and she'd
make any man a good wife."
That maddened Gloria. "How do you know she would?" she asked
crossly. "Just because she knows how to handle a typewriter doesn't
prove that she could run a house ... or a husband, either! I'll bet
she can't make coffee like mine!"
She looked at him, daring him to defend Susan Briggs.
"I can make wonderful coffee. My mother's giving me cooking
lessons," she added.
"What's the big idea? ... Are you getting ready for your second
marriage?" Dick asked, sarcastically.
Gloria slowly shook her head. "There won't be any second marriage
for me, Dick," she said. "This is my only venture.... Do you know,
it's almost two weeks since we separated?"
She saw his brows draw down in a scowl. "It's longer than that," he
said. "It's almost two months since you ran away from home to follow
Stanley Wayburn down to New York!"
Gloria bit her lip. "Oh, won't you ever forget that?" she asked
impatiently. "That was just a kid trick.... I wasn't half so wild
about Stanley Wayburn as I was about New York. And I wanted to get
even with you for going away on that trip and leaving me behind!"
"If I could believe that..." Dick began.
Gloria waited breathlessly, but he said nothing more. Presently he
took a book from the pocket of his coat and opened it. He began to
read.
Gloria rose and held out her hand. "I must go," she said. "It's
getting late...."
Then she sat down again. "I really ought to go," she murmured. But
she knew that so long as Dick was there she could not leave.
Invisible chains held her to that bench.... It was good just to be
near him again.
"I showed a couple of people our house last week," Dick remarked
presently, without raising his eyes from his book. "I hope they'll
buy the furniture, too."
Gloria set her teeth. "It's too bad you can't get rid of the house
as easily as you got rid of me, isn't it?" she asked, watching his
face. But it was as blank as that of a good poker player or a Hindu.
"I hate the thought of other people living in our house with our
things," Gloria went on, after a few minutes. "I don't want anybody
to take naps on my chaise longue, or sit in your armchair.... I
don't want any man but you to use that little red smoking-stand of
yours...."
Her voice broke. She fought hard to keep back the tears that welled
up into her eyes.
"You broke into the house the other day, didn't you?" Dick asked,
suddenly.
Gloria nodded.
"Why?"
She shook her head. She knew that if she tried to talk she would
burst into tears.