and dying at that! What sort of man do you call yourself to insult
first the woman who was to have been your wife and then a dying man."
Amherst gasped and caught his breath in painful amazement.
"Oh, my God!" he groaned like a hurt animal, "how you must love him,
Lynn!"
They had passed the cab-stand now and had turned toward home, but
neither noticed this. Amherst's face was ghastly and his steps
unsteady; but Lynn walked erect and stately like a sable figure of doom.
When some blocks had been traversed in silence Amherst spoke, slowly and
humbly.
"Lynn, I should not have spoken as I did. We're all human and I'm not
your judge. If I didn't love you--if I hadn't believed that you loved
me--I should not have been so harsh. Will you let me walk home with
you? We probably shan't see one another again very soon and there is so
much I want to say."
"No."
"You won't let me? You compel me to--very well, I'll go to Ricossia,
then; I'll make him listen to reason and, and if he won't, I'll"----
"Gerald!"
Lynn's voice was alive with a sudden, horrible fear.
"Gerald," she said swiftly, clasping his arm with her hands, "you loved
me once, didn't you? For the sake of that, because of that, will you do
me a favour? Deal with me, alone. I'm strong, I can stand anything.
Say what you please to me, do as you think best--but let him alone.
He's so young, he--he's so weak--and he's dying, Gerald, dying. He may
be dead, to-morrow. While he lives, let him alone. Oh, Gerald, promise
me!"
Amherst could not speak for a moment. When he did his voice had altered.
"Lynn," said he, gently, "why did you promise to marry me?"
"Because I loved you, Gerald."
"You still say that--now?"
"Yes. My love for him was quite another thing. I can't explain, and I
don't expect you to understand."
"I see--I think I see. The other was a--well, a sort of obsession."
"Exactly. You could hit on no better word."
"Yet you believed that you loved me. You think that you could care for
two men at once?"
She moistened her dry lips and spoke, feebly.
"If I had not been so alone in the world, Gerald, I might have loved
several. There are so many different loves, you know; differing in kind
and in degree. The love for a father, for a son, for a brother"--her
face lightened with sudden hope,--"that was really what I felt for him,
Gerald; the love that a mother has for a son, the love that a sister has
for a brother--don't you, oh, can't you, understand? I loved you in
quite another way--it's so different--and, if I tried to explain any
more, I should break a solemn oath--I should bring a curse on my
head"----
Amherst's face lit with a sudden, heated gleam. He turned and spoke
fiercely.
"Lynn! Don't insult my intelligence by telling me stuff of that sort,
but listen! Promise that you'll never see him again, and that you'll do
your best to forget him! Promise that he'll be nothing to you in the
future! and I'll forgive all the rest. Come to me! I want you. I
won't ask you a question, not a question. Marry me to-morrow and I'll
kill the first man--or woman--who breathes a word against you. Lynn!"
She held her breath and looked at him as though fascinated.
"Lynn! Promise!"
She spoke, slowly and with difficulty.
"Until he dies, Gerald--my life is his."
"Then"----
Amherst's face flushed, a dark, purplish flush, ugly to see.
"You prefer him then to reputation, honour, common sense and decency."
His breath came heavily. "You prefer him--to me!"
As slowly and deliberately as before she answered him.
"I love you--as a woman loves the man she means to marry. I love
L--Ricossia--as I love no other being on God's earth--as I do not
believe any other man was ever loved from the beginning of time. You
say rightly. I prefer him--and the oath at which you sneer--to
reputation--honour--common sense--decency--and you! Good-bye, Gerald;
try to forget me."
*CHAPTER XXIV*
*MRS. LANGHAM-GREENE PAYS HER DEBT; AND
MRS. WAITE, HERS*
"The long-necked geese of the world that are
ever hissing dispraise
Because their natures are little."
--_Tennyson_.
Estelle Hadwell was sitting by a blazing fire in her husband's library
when she heard voices in the hall below, followed by the banging of a
door. Then Mr. Hadwell called loudly:
"Estelle! are you there?"
"Yes, dear," replied his wife, somewhat surprised. "Have you visitors?"
"Yes. Mrs. Langham-Greene and Mrs. Tollman are here. Can you come
down?"
"Yes, indeed!" replied Mrs. Hadwell with effusion. She rose slowly from
her chair by the fire, grimacing disgustedly as she did so. The library
was so nice and Mrs. Greene so horrid and Mrs. Tollman such a bore.
She hurried down and advanced with extended hands and a delighted smile.
She had got as far as "A most delightful surprise--an unexpected
pleasure!" when she caught sight of her husband's face.
"Henry!" she exclaimed in genuine consternation. "What in the world is
it?"
Her husband was standing with his back to the fireplace and a portentous
frown on his brow, looking, as Mrs. Hadwell reflected to herself, for
all the world like the British Matron in trousers.
"Henry, what is it?" she asked, again.
"These ladies," returned Mr. Hadwell with a majestic wave of his hand,
"can tell you better than I."
Estelle glanced from one to the other, wonderingly. Mrs. Tollman, a
stout, pleasant-faced woman, wore a somewhat distressed expression and
sat stiffly upright. Mrs. Langham-Greene, delicately lovely in dark blue
velvet and ermine, leaned gracefully back in an easy chair, her fine
features composed to an expression of decorous sorrow. Neither lady
made any immediate effort to enlighten her hostess until Mrs. Greene
swept a meaning glance at her companion from beneath her long, light
lashes. Then Mrs. Tollman spoke.
"It's such a delicate matter, Mrs. Hadwell," she said in a flurried way.
"I disliked coming to you about it, very much; but Mr. Hadwell insisted,
saying that only an eye-witness could convince you."
"Of what?"
"This is so hard on us, both," Mrs. Langham-Greene murmured, soothingly.
"And it was so careless of me to mention the poor thing; for then Mr.
Hadwell simply dragged the whole story out of me. I am most distressed,
I am indeed!"
"But at what, dear Mrs. Greene?" cooed her hostess.
"Oh, at the whole affair--the poor girl so well connected and all! and
Ricossia so common and dreadful."
"Oh, some new scandal about young Ricossia," exclaimed Mrs. Hadwell with
sudden enlightenment and a corresponding sinking of the heart.
"But he is not common; no one could call him that. Dreadful, certainly;
but rather fascinating in his way, don't you think?"
"Apparently others have found him so," drawled the older lady,
meaningly.
"What others?"
Mrs. Langham-Greene looked deliberately at Mrs. Hadwell and spoke,
regretfully.
"I am afraid, dear Mrs. Hadwell, that your friend, Miss Thayer"----
"How dare you say so?"
"Estelle," said her husband, reprovingly, "is it likely that these
ladies would speak without proper authority?"
"Very likely indeed," thought their hostess, but her heart was sick
within her. Lynn's interest in Ricossia; her lack of interest in other
men; her sorrow, her preoccupation, her confession of having outraged
propriety; all these ranged as witnesses against her in her friend's
heart.
"I knew--I told Mr. Hadwell that you would take it in just this way,"
murmured the widow, sympathetically. "So he insisted that we bring an
eye-witness to convince you. Of course the thing has been going on for
an indefinite space of time; but, just lately, Mr. and Mrs. Tollman,
when returning home late one night, saw Miss Thayer leaving the Chatham.
They followed her. She took a sleigh to Pine Avenue, dismissed it there
and walked home. Isn't it so, Mrs. Tollman?"
"Yes," said Mrs. Tollman, fluttering. "It is undeniably true. But I
don't know how it ever got out, for I only told my most intimate friends
about it."
"That was cheaper than having it printed in the 'Daily News' and
certainly quite as effective."
Mrs. Hadwell had lost her usual calm and diplomacy.
"Really," she continued with a sudden burst of candour, "really how I do
hate women! They're every bit as nasty as men, and nothing like so nice
into the bargain. I wish I need never see a woman again--except Lynn."
This coming from the politic and tactful Mrs. Hadwell had the effect of
a thunderclap. Before her listeners had recovered the housemaid
announced Mrs. Waite and that lady entered.
Since inheriting her legacy, Mrs. Hadwell's former housekeeper had hired
a small furnished house and was living there alone. General Shaftan's
house, her property, was advertised for sale; a proceeding which had
roused some interest in Montreal society.
"How funny of her not to live there until it sells or rents! Can it be
that that sourfaced woman is afraid of ghosts?" some had asked.
She stood now in the doorway, looking from one to the other with her
peculiarly cold and expressionless manner. "Excuse me," she said
without preliminary, "but as I was walking through the hall just now I
heard what you were saying; I could not help hearing. Is it true that
Miss Thayer is in trouble?"
"Are you interested in Miss Thayer?" inquired Mrs. Langham-Greene with
courtly insolence.
"Yes."
The two women faced one another in silence; the one beautiful,
patrician, elegant; the other, plain, sad-faced, and, apparently, old.
A whole world lay between them; nor was the chasm bridged by the fact
that both had loved the same man. Mrs. Hadwell, with her usual quick
intuition, could feel the air charged with import and longed to know
what lay beneath these different exteriors. Instead she turned to Mrs.
Langham-Greene with a question.
"May I ask what your object was in laying these slanders about Miss
Thayer before me?" she said.
"I wished," said the other slowly, "to see what could be done to help
the wretched girl. Of course she cannot stay here; and I understand
that there is a great dearth of teachers in the North-West; they are not
particular there as to character and"--
"You cat!" screamed little Mrs. Hadwell, losing all control of herself.
"How dare you come to my house and compel me to be rude to your very
face? How dare you speak so of my best friend? Who wants to hear your
opinion of her? why, it's an impertinence on your part to have an
opinion about a girl like Lynn. Let me tell you that Miss Thayer need
not go to the North-West for a refuge; she will always find a welcome in
my home whenever she needs one"--
"Not in mine!"
Mrs. Hadwell started and looked at her husband with amazement.
"You wish me to drop Lynn? My dear Henry, if you are thinking of
setting up in the ostracizing business I can supply you with a long list
of far more deserving cases."
"I don't say that the girl is actually bad, but she has been proved to
be utterly devoid of sense or decency. She shall never set foot in my
house again."
"In that case," Mrs. Hadwell's voice was calm--"I leave your house
to-night and take my children with me."
"What?"
"They are all under seven and until that age the mother has full
control. I shall take them to my grandmother in Lachine; there, at
least, I can receive my friends--my one friend, I should say! I haven't
another."
Mr. Hadwell stamped out of the room in a fury. Mrs. Tollman and Mrs.
Greene followed him quietly, the former almost in tears, the latter
composed and cheerful. When the door closed on them Mrs. Hadwell sat
down and burst into tears.
"Oh, Lynn, Lynn, how could you?" she sobbed.
"Mrs. Hadwell, can you give me this Mr. Ricossia's address?"
Mrs. Waite's cold, thin voice sounded unpleasantly at Estelle's elbow.
"Yes, I believe it's the Chatham, either 10 or 12 St. Eustache St.,"
answered the younger woman, staring through wet eyes in sheer amazement.
"Are you there, still, Mrs. Waite? I thought you had gone."
"Don't--don't mind so much," said the "Gorgon-faced automaton" with
difficulty. "Perhaps something can be done."
"Oh, nothing, nothing, I am afraid, except to stand by her."
"You believe this story?"
"No!" lied Mrs. Hadwell, firmly.
"Neither do I. I am sure there is some explanation if one could only
find out what it is. And I have plenty of money, now; money can do a
great deal sometimes in cases of this kind, and there is nothing I would
sooner spend it on"----
"You--you? But, Mrs. Waite--if you don't mind my asking--why should
you--what is Lynn to you?"
Mrs. Waite moistened her dry lips and spoke, faintly.
"I had a child once. He died.... She was his teacher and--and she was
good to him. But don't tell her; she might try to talk to me about him
and--and I couldn't stand that"----
Mrs. Waite stopped; her plain face contorted ludicrously. The next
moment the cold Mrs. Hadwell and the woman beside whose frigid nature
her own showed in the light of a volcano were weeping bitterly in one
another's arms.
*CHAPTER XXV*
*THE SHADOWS FALL*
"All the dreaming is broken through,
Both what is done and undone I rue,
Nothing is tender, nothing true,
In heaven or earth save God and you."
--_Arthur Sullivan_.
"But still the faces gaped and cried,
'Give us the dream for which we died!'"
--Charles G. D. Roberts.
Mrs. Hadwell, having hypnotized Mr. Hadwell into apologizing profusely
for his conduct, promised to forgive him if he would go away for a week.
"You have been talking for years of paying a visit to your sister in
Toronto," she said. "Suppose you go now, Henry. She will be delighted
to see you, and I--after a week of absence I shall be so glad to see
you, again, that I shall not even think of this. Otherwise"----
He went. When Estelle had seen him safely in the train she drew a long
breath of relief and telephoned to Miss Thayer. Until then she had not
dared to risk an encounter between her friend and her husband, knowing
that the former was a keen observer and the latter, a poor actor.
"Come to me, to-morrow, as soon as school is out, dear," she said. "I
shall be in all afternoon. Promise!"
"Oh, yes, I shall come, Del," assented the other, quietly. Mrs.
Hadwell, listening sorrowfully, thought she could detect a note of
unaccustomed grief in Lynn's voice. She endeavoured to forget it,
however, and, giving orders to admit no visitors that evening, sat in
front of the library fire, cudgelling her brains for some method of
rehabilitating her friend in public favour. Although a woman of great
resource and audacity none occurred to her; the case was too hopeless.
"Let me see," she said, judicially, "what are the facts--the known
facts? First: Lynn, who is a great favourite with men but who shows
partiality to none, develops an enthusiastic fancy for an unknown genius
who arrives in Montreal two years ago. She works night and day to induce
her friends to take him up; she takes long walks and drives in his
society; and is frequently seen holding absorbed conversations with him
in out-of-the-way places. She puffs his writings untiringly; she
persists in ignoring his open faults; she makes excuses for his bad
habits. True, he is only a child in years. Then he turns out to be
utterly depraved; everyone drops him; she grows white and thin, refuses
to discuss him even with me and is seen talking with him after he has
been practically ostracised by all reputable people. This is a year
ago. She, who has hitherto loved society and revelled in every sort of
outdoor exercise, suddenly takes to refusing all invitations and losing
interest in all sports. To-day half a dozen unimpeachable
witnesses--and dear knows how many others--are ready to swear that they
have seen her leave his extremely dubious place of residence, late at
night. Oh, Lynn, Lynn, my dear stupid child, how could you? What _can_
I do for you? If they were even people who could be bought--who could
be bribed to swear that they had lied!--oh, I give it up! I may as well
telephone to Mrs. Waite and see if she has any ideas."
"Is that you, Mrs. Waite? Yes, it is I, Mrs. Hadwell. No, I have not
seen Miss Thayer yet but she is coming up to-morrow afternoon. I don't
know; I am most unhappy about it. Yes, to-morrow afternoon. Oh, why?"
"Because," answered Mrs. Waite, quietly, "I think I have discovered
something. Do not, on any account, let Miss Thayer know, or you may
spoil everything. No, I can tell you nothing. I have your permission
to bring him? then I shall say good-night."
"Most tantalising," muttered Estelle as she hung up the receiver.
"Still, as everything is as bad already as it can well be, nothing can
make it much worse. How truly comforting! Who is the person she wants
to bring, I wonder! and how can he help poor Lynn? A plea of insanity
is the only solution that occurs to me. But I'll stand by her--and, in
the meantime, I'll drink a pint of porter and see if that will make me
sleep."
It did; and at four o'clock the next day Mrs. Hadwell greeted her friend
with an intensity of feeling that was almost solemn.
"You poor child!" she said, as she kissed her.
Lynn returned the kiss, listlessly, and sat down. She looked rather
tired.
"So you have not yet deserted me, Del?" she said, quietly, as she
loosened her wraps.
"Deserted you! Oh, Lynn, Lynn, I wouldn't desert you if you had
committed murder and sacrilege. But, my child, how could you be so
foolish? Why weren't you content with doing a wrong thing without going
further and doing it in such a way that it had to come out? I won't
reproach you for the thing, itself; I am too sick, too sorry; but why,
oh why, had you"----
"Wait!"
Lynn put her hand to her forehead as though bewildered.
"Just a minute, Del. I don't quite understand. What is it that you
think?"
"Don't fence with me, dear, any longer. That green-eyed harpy of a
Langham-Greene has got hold of the whole affair. You have been seen
leaving the Chatham late at night; you have been seen dismissing a
sleigh on Pine Avenue and walking home."
"Yes."
"You know! But, Lynn, how can you take it so coolly? Don't you realise
what a terrible thing it is?"
"In what way?"
"Why, my dear, dear girl, your reputation is gone if we can't refute
these statements; you must know that."
"Yes, I know."
"You--know!"
"Yes. The fact is, Del, that I have had so many real troubles lately
that the loss of that intangible thing, reputation, affects me little.
I can get along without it."
"Lynn, you don't know what you are saying. A woman's reputation is like
her clothing; it's a great bother, it's ruinously expensive and it's
sometimes distinctly uncomfortable. The sad fact remains, however, that
she must either have it or emigrate to the Sandwich Islands."
"My reputation, as you call it, Del, is gone because two or three people
say that they have seen me doing an unusual thing. It is true; I did it.
Yet, if I had immersed myself in a nunnery and never stirred outside
unless accompanied by an army of chaperons and escorts, my reputation
might be gone, just as effectually. The first man who took a dislike to
me could leave me without a shred of character provided he went to a
little trouble and didn't mind a few lies--what man does? What is more,
I might never have heard of the matter till years after; it merely
happens that I am aware of this. There may be fifty scandals about me
in other circles for anything I know to the contrary. No, Del; I have
several troubles, but my lost reputation is not one of them."
"My dear Lynn, are you absolutely indifferent to the opinions of others?
You must be mad."
"Possibly. I don't say that I am not sorry to think that many nice
women must have a wrong idea of me: but as for men--pah! What does it
matter what _they_ think? It is not so very long ago since a certain
engagement was broken off in this very city; the 'gentleman' took his
former fiancee's letters to the club and read them there aloud amid
shouts of laughter. There are men for you! the men that you and I know!
Who would want the good-will of a pack of hounds like that? No; let
them have my reputation to tear to pieces if it amuses them; I have
other things to think of."
"But Lynn, what are you going to do?"
"Stay here and face the music."
"_Stay here?_"
"Certainly. What do you take me for?"
"A madwoman. You mean to stay in a place where everyone knows--where
the man is still living--where"--
"Why not? I've done nothing to be ashamed of, even granting that I have
acted foolishly. I'm not going to skulk off!"
"Nothing to be ashamed of! Lynn! Why do you persist in maintaining this
attitude? You compel me to speak plainly. You have done what is
unforgivable--you have done"--
"Wait a minute, Del! You mean?"--
"I mean--oh, Lynn, Lynn, don't you see that if you had only kept this
dreadful thing secret; if you only hadn't allowed people to know,
positively, that you had done the one thing that is never pardoned in a
woman--if you had only"--
"Ah!"
Lynn rose, slowly.
"I didn't know, Del--I knew what men were like--I didn't know--what you
have taught me! Good-bye."
"Lynn. Wait! Where are you going?"
"Home--to tell my uncle and aunt that I have been seen leaving the
Chatham at night. If they won't have me in their house--I'll go,
elsewhere. I have proved the worth of the two people, man and woman,
who professed to love me best on earth; now I want to rid myself of all
the rest. Good-bye."
"Good heavens! You don't mean to say that you are trying to deny?"--
"I am denying and trying to deny nothing. I refuse to discuss the
subject. I suppose I must make up my mind to expect insults from
strangers, but I am not compelled to receive them from my friends--or
from those who were once my friends. I have no friends, now; I never had
father or mother or--or--and now I have neither friend nor lover.
Knowing what I now know of love and friendship--I am glad!"
"Oh, Lynn, Lynn! This to me! when I would move heaven and earth to help
you!" cried Mrs. Hadwell, miserably. "How can you doubt my friendship?
I tell you that if, to-morrow, everyone threw you over my house would
still be open to you."
"Your house! Do you think I would ever enter it again? Fool! We've
known each other from childhood up, and yet, to-day, you think you can
insult me and be forgiven. The sight of you makes me feel sick. Don't
stop me, don't speak to me"--
Mrs. Hadwell had risen to intercept her. Lynn hastened past her to the
door. There stood Gerald Amherst, white as death.
For a long moment the three stood in silence. Lynn was the first to
break it and her voice was mocking.
"You interrupted an affecting farewell, Mr. Amherst. I was saying
good-bye to my bosom friend, just as, not long ago, I said good-bye to
my devoted lover. Having done what politeness demands I shall now take
my departure."
"No!" exclaimed Estelle, rushing forward. "Don't let her, Mr. Amherst.
She doesn't know what she's saying or doing and I _must_ keep her till
she understands. Lynn, wait! Let me explain."
Lynn, with a gesture that was almost majestic, motioned Amherst from the
doorway where he still stood. He hesitated, trembling and uncertain;
and while he hesitated, steps sounded in the hall behind and Mrs. Waite
spoke.
"Mr. Amherst, don't go away! nor you, either, Miss Thayer. I wish very
much to see you, both. I am sorry to be late, but"--
Amherst moved aside, mechanically, and Amy Waite entered, followed by
Ricossia. The two women stood where they were, unable to speak or move;
and Ricossia spoke, pleasantly.
"Mrs. Waite has brought me here in order that I may explain"--
"_Liol!_"--