I
Elaine Kaplan was writing a letter in the room that the servants called
Madame’s boudoir; but Elaine called it her sitting-room. Boudoir was a
word she detested. There was a knock at the door.
“Come in!” she sang out.
Her husband entered, smiling.
“Oh,” she said, mildly surprised. “I thought it was Taswell. He sent
word to ask if he could see me at four. . . . You are home early.
Anything special?”
“No,” said Joe. “I asked Fletcher to come here at four—I didn’t want
him to be seen at my office; and he’s late. So I shall let him cool his
heels for a few minutes.”
“Something big on hand?”
“For him, not for me. The fool wants to sell me his newspapers, now that
I’ve stolen their circulation.”
“Am I to come down-stairs?”
“You can if you want.”
“Mercy! I don’t want to see old Fletcher. I just meant, is he to be
entertained?”
“No,” said Joe curtly. “Fletcher’s on the toboggan.”
He consulted a pocket note-book. “By the way, can you save the night of
the fourteenth for me? Awful bore, but it would be advisable for us to
appear at the reception for Sir Esme Dordress at the Union League.”
“Surely,” said Elaine, making a note on her desk-pad. “Who’s he?”
“A governor of the Bank of England. . . . _En grande toilette_, my dear,
which becomes you so well.”
“Thanks. Hardly in the best taste at a club reception, is it?”
“Of course not. But all the other women will. We can let it be inferred
that we are going on to something else, and get out early. . . . Have
one of mine?”
“Thanks, I prefer these common ones.”
Lighting up, Joe dropped into a deep chair, and stretched his legs
luxuriously. “Young Taswell?” he said; “how is he making out with the
kid?”
“I can’t honestly say that he’s doing Sturges any good,” said Elaine;
“but at least he’s doing him no harm.”
“Rather a fantastic idea, don’t you think? giving the kid a tutor at the
age of six?”
“Well, I thought he ought not to be entirely in the hands of women. I
have read Pastor Witt’s book on education. It is wonderful what can be
done with them at such an age. But of course Sturges is different. . . .
I wasn’t thinking of education so much, as of the masculine influence
generally.”
“I would be no good as a nursery companion,” said Joe. “No use
pretending.”
“I wasn’t reproaching you,” said Elaine with a clear glance.
“He’s a hard little nut, the kid,” said Joe, smiling at some
recollection.
“So he ought to be at six,” said Elaine quickly.
“I shouldn’t think you’d get much literature to stick.”
“Don’t expect to. Taswell’s much more than a mere literary person. He’s
an athlete. He has a very masculine point of view.”
“A gentleman, too,” said Joe agreeably. “Damned handsome fellow!”
“Oh yes,” said Elaine indifferently. “. . . I like him very much,” she
went on. “He pockets his weekly wage, and keeps his head up. I have him
to lunch with me sometimes. He’s interested in so many things. We have
good talks.”
“I know just what you mean,” said Joe. “Disgusting, isn’t it? the way
nearly everybody licks our boots. Takes all the fun out of life. I’d
like to be better acquainted with this independent young man.”
Elaine offered no comment.
There was a knock on the door; and in response to Elaine’s summons, the
one whom they had been discussing entered. A young man who brought with
him into everyday affairs, a sharp reminder of that which is timeless.
He was quite unconscious of it. A wary and a courteous young man,
unabashed in Elaine’s boudoir, yet conveying an intimation that his
astuteness was far from being the whole of him. The handsome older man
received him all smiles; Elaine’s half glance acknowledged his good
looks, but was annihilating in its impersonal quality.
Taswell, seeing Joe, stopped just within the door. “Oh, if I am
intruding . . .” he began.
“Not at all!” said Joe cordially. “The appointment is yours. I was only
warming a chair.”
Courtesies were exchanged. Joe remained standing.
“How are you getting along with your pupil?” he asked.
“As well as can be expected,” said Taswell coolly.
Joe laughed. “Are you fond of the little rascal?” he asked.
“He’s a splendidly healthy child,” answered Taswell.
Elaine, not looking at either man, frowned.
“What do you do every day?” asked Joe.
“We walk out for an hour if it’s fine,” said Taswell; “with such
conversation, improving or otherwise, as may suggest itself. If we have
to stay in, I read to him as long as he will listen; or help him to
build something.”
“Don’t you hate to tote a kid around?” asked Joe in his friendly way.
“Not in the least!” said Taswell, smiling.
Joe laughed indulgently. “It’s not a job I’d fancy.” He moved towards
the door. “Got a man waiting down-stairs. Hope to see you again.” The
door closed behind him.
Taswell’s face betrayed no expression whatever; neither did Elaine’s.
She changed from her desk to a more comfortable chair. She was wearing a
loose-sleeved black dress which revealed how full of health was her
pallor. The young man watched her, while courteously appearing not to do
so.
“Have a cigarette,” said Elaine, waving her hand in the direction of the
big silver box. “Tea will be up directly.”
Taswell noticed how the black sleeve fell away from the white arm. He
proceeded towards the box. “You are very kind,” he said. “I’m afraid I
cannot stay for tea.”
“I suppose it is something special,” said Elaine, “since you asked to
see me.”
He did not answer immediately. He was staring down at the cigarette he
had just taken. “I must give up my job, Mrs. Kaplan,” he said quietly.
“Oh!” said Elaine, with quickly falling face. “I’m so sorry! . . . I
thought you liked it!”
“It was a wonderful chance!” he said. “I mean, to be able to earn my
living with two hours’ work a day. You see I’m doing a book, biology,
from which I can expect no immediate return.”
“Then why give up the chance?”
“I am doing nothing here.”
“But I’m satisfied. I didn’t expect a miracle!”
“The child is too young,” said Taswell. “I cannot get hold of him. The
two hours a day is a trial to us both.”
“Then why did you tell my husband just now that . . .”
“Oh, he was simply baiting me,” said Taswell.
Elaine bit her lip.
Presently she said: “Is it because you dislike Sturges?”
“No,” he said promptly. “I like him!” The implication of this speech
might have been had in the involuntarily warm glance which accompanied
it, but which Elaine chose not to see.
“I mention that simply because everybody seems to dislike him,” she said
proudly.
“He dislikes me very much,” said Taswell; “but that is quite natural. I
am the Enemy, because I will not knuckle under.”
“I don’t knuckle under to him,” said Elaine quickly.
“Ah, you’re his mother; and he’s obliged to recognize you as a fixture.
You must be circumvented; but I can be got rid of, if he is determined
enough.”
“And are you content to be got rid of?”
“I know it’s my fault,” said Taswell. “I haven’t got the right sort of
patience.”
“I don’t set too much store by patience,” said Elaine quickly. “If he’s
naughty you ought to smack him. I would back you up. I smack him when he
is naughty.”
“He is never naughty with you,” said Taswell with smiling lips and
speaking eyes. His words carried two meanings.
Elaine’s answer had but one. “No! Because he knows what he would get! If
you were to . . .”
“There is a difference,” Taswell pointed out, smiling. “Parental
smacking is orthodox.”
Elaine got up impatiently. The young man’s eyes gleamed at the sight of
that splendid straightening. She crossed the room, and came back. “You
make him out a perfect little monster between you!” she said bitterly.
“Not I!” said Taswell, quickly. “But it’s a great mistake to suppose
that children are not alive to things. There is a whole world of
intuitive knowledge behind those bright, watchful black eyes of his.”
Elaine stopped short, looking at Taswell with a kind of horror. Several
seconds passed before she spoke. “He’s just an ordinary naughty little
boy!” she said breathlessly. “There’s nothing special about him! Just an
ordinary little boy!” The words seemed to be torn from her.
Taswell’s eyes expressed a wonder at the sharpness of her tones. “Of
course!” he said. “Just a vigorous, strong-willed little boy. The real
problem lies in your situation.”
“What do you mean?” she demanded.
“You’re so rich!” he said.
“What difference does that make to him?” she asked haughtily. “If he has
always lived in a big house, where the wheels are greased, and the
proper things appear at the proper times—if he has never known anything
different, how could his character be affected by it?”
“It isn’t the big house, and the comforts. It’s being surrounded by
servants; people subservient to him.”
“That’s why I wanted somebody like you.”
“Exactly,” he said good-humoredly. “But . . .” He spread out his hands.
“If you had a small son of your own,” she demanded, not without scorn,
“would you not know how to deal with him?”
“Oh, yes!” said Taswell quickly, with a secret look of resolution and
amusement.
Elaine was a little baffled. “Take Nurse,” she said argumentatively; “I
searched over two continents until I found the one woman who . . .”
“An admirable person!” said Taswell. “I’m sure you couldn’t do better.”
They exchanged a look. Elaine was the first to turn her eyes away. A
subterranean understanding was created; and because of it Elaine was
silently obliged to abandon her position. She resumed her pacing. The
young man watched her, clearly not thinking of the child.
Presently she began to speak in a low, moved voice, more to herself than
to him. “I’ll find a way . . . somehow! Not necessarily through books
and learning. There are other ways of making a good life. . . . When
he’s a little older I will take him away. To Wyoming. There will be no
servants there. I will ride with him, and shoot with him, and go on
hikes. I can make a boy of myself . . . !” She turned on the silent
Taswell as if he were opposing her. Her deep bosom rose and fell under
the black silk; her glance made the young man think of Boadicea fronting
the Roman legions. “In spite of everything . . . _everything_. I will
make a man of him! _My_ kind of man! Nothing can stand against a
determination such as mine. Half of him is of me. I have character. I
will strike it into him!”
Taswell had risen. His air of astuteness was gone. He gazed at her, rapt
and saddened. It was not her words, but her look of indomitable despair.
“Oh, Mrs. Kaplan . . . !” he murmured.
The sound of his voice recalled Elaine to her usual self. Turning, and
affecting to straighten some objects on her desk, she said in a muffled
voice: “You have been awfully decent. I quite appreciate your position.
When would you like to go?”
He roused himself. He put down the cigarette which he had never lighted.
“At your convenience,” he said, lowering his eyes. “As soon as
possible.”
“You are quite right. There is no use dragging on with a situation once
you discover that it has become impossible. You needn’t come back to
Sturges again.”
“Thank you,” he murmured.
She approached him as if to say good-bye. “I shall always be glad to see
you, though. I’ll send you a check.”
Taswell, sensible young man as he was, was hurt to the quick. “Oh, Mrs.
Kaplan . . . !” he said, very differently from the first time.
“Why . . . what’s the matter?” asked Elaine, surprised.
He raised his eyes full to hers. “I love you,” he said.
Elaine turned away with a quick movement. Taswell’s eyes fastened on the
white V of her back that showed, instinct with life, under the dead
silk. After a moment or two she said coldly: “Why did you feel it
necessary to tell me that?”
“I didn’t ‘feel it necessary’,” he said sorely. “It sprang out of
me. . . . What harm can it do? I am going.”
“Oh, no particular harm,” she said. “But I hate to be made to appear
unfeeling. . . . All this sort of thing simply makes me impatient, it’s
so . . . so . . . I don’t know. Men feel obliged to whoop themselves up
to it, and women to simper.” She looked around at him scornfully. “What,
really, Taswell! A man of your capacity! How can you expect to do any
serious work?”
“I can’t . . . now,” he muttered, avoiding her glance.
“Why, I must be seven or eight years older than you.”
“Oh!” he said painfully, sweeping away the suggestion.
“Love . . . ! Bah! Excuse _me_!”
The young man raised his head quickly. A dark flush was creeping up from
his neck. “I’m not ashamed of loving you, if it comes to that,” he said.
Elaine, with a side glance at him, modified her tone. “I’m not getting
at you, Taswell. You’re an honest, generous fellow. I like you very
much. You speak my lingo. . . . Much too good a fellow to be making
love. I’m fed up with love. I’m sorry, but the mere mention of love
brings out my worst side. Ugh! these fashionable women with their sleek
lovers! There isn’t a throb of honest passion in the pack of them! I
_hate_ love . . . !”
He raised his sullen eyes to hers again. That was just it! his eyes
said. So do I!
“Once I suppose love was a splendid thing,” she swept on, “but since
we’ve become so civilized or self-conscious, or whatever it is, it has
turned into rather a slimy business, don’t you think? As soon as men
began to dwell on their own animal instincts, and make up fine-sounding
names for them—Ugh! what a nasty business . . . !”
“I should like to kill him,” the young man murmured.
Elaine instantly threw off her preoccupation with love, and gave him
undivided attention. “Now look here, Taswell, you’re simply being
carried away by an emotional tornado. Come to! Use you head, man! In
order to justify your feelings, you are pretending to yourself that I’m
a misunderstood and unappreciated woman cooped up here in my gilded
cage, and all that rot! There is nothing in it! You’ve been in and out
of the house during the last two months, and have used your eyes, I
suppose. Well, I assure you, you have seen all there is to see. There is
no horrid mystery. Nobody abuses me. Do I look like a woman who would
submit to abuse? Should I ever be neglected, it would be because I
willed it. I am happier than the run of women because I know exactly
where I stand with myself!”
“That is worse!” he murmured.
“You are not listening to me!” she cried angrily. “. . . What is worse?”
“Wasted . . . ! A woman like you . . . ! Like a fire in the night . . .
!”
“Oh my God!” cried Elaine. “Am I wasted because I choose to set my heart
on a child, instead of a man? What a little you know!”