When Alison arrived at the Clays' the fun was in full swing. The house
was crowded--not only the long sitting room, but the little hall, and a
good way up the stairs. A stage had been erected at one end of the
sitting room; on this stage now the actors were disporting themselves.
As Alison had not arrived in time for supper, no one took any notice of
her when she appeared. She found that it was quite impossible to hope
to get a corner, either to sit or stand, in the room where the acting
was going on. She had, therefore, to content herself with leaning up
against the wall in the passage, and now and then bending forward so as
to see the one person about whom she was the least interested--Jim
himself.
The play was a very poor affair, and consisted of several short scenes
acted in the style of charades, with impromptu conversations, which
mostly consisted of coarse jests and innuendoes; but the loud laughter
of the spectators assured Alison that this style of thing was quite up
to their level. She felt rather sickened at Jim's taking part in
anything so commonplace; but her love for him, which grew daily, gave
her a certain sense of rest and happiness at even being in his
vicinity. He did not know she was there, but that mattered little or
nothing. When the play was over he would come out and see her, and
then everything would be smooth and delightful. She forgot to be
jealous of Louisa; she even forgot the fact that a few short weeks ago
she had been publicly accused of theft; she only knew that she wore her
best frock; she was only conscious that she looked her best and
brightest, that when Jim's eyes did rest upon her he could not but
acknowledge her charm; she was only well aware that it was Christmas
Eve, and that all the world was rejoicing. She stood, therefore, in
the crowded hall with a smiling face, her hands lightly, clasped in
front of her, her thoughts full of peace, and yet stimulated to a
certain excited joy.
Between the acts people began to go in and out of the large sitting
room, and on these occasions Alison was jostled about a good bit. She
was quite pushed up against the stairs, and had some difficulty in
keeping her balance. She saw a man stare at her with a very coarse
sort of admiration. She did not know the man, and she shrank from his
gaze; but the next moment she saw him speaking to a girl who she knew
belonged to Shaw's establishment. The girl's reply came distinctly to
her ears.
"Yes, I suppose she is pretty enough," she said. "We always spoke of
her as genteel at Shaw's. Oh, you want to know her name, Mr. Manners?
Her name is Alison Reed. She left Shaw's because she stole a
five-pound note. It was awfully good of him not to prosecute her."
"That girl a thief!" said the man who was addressed as Manners. "I
don't believe it."
"Oh, but she is! She was in such a fright that she left the shop the
very day she was accused. That shows guilt--don't it, now?"
Alison could not hear Manners' reply, but after a time, the sharp voice
of the girl again reached her ears.
"They do say as Jim Hardy, our foreman, was sweet on her, but of course
he has given her up now; he is all agog for Louisa Clay, the girl he is
acting with to-night. They say they are sweethearts, and they'll be
married early in the year. It is a very good match for him, for Louisa
has lots of money and----"
The speakers moved on, and Alison could not catch another word. She
had gained a comfortable position for herself now, and was leaning
firmly against the wall. The words which had reached her she fully and
completely realized. She was accustomed to being considered a thief;
she always would be considered a thief until that five-pound note was
found. It was very painful, it was bitter to be singled out in that
way, to have attention drawn to her as such a character; but the words
which related to Jim she absolutely laughed at. Was not Jim her own
faithful lover? Would he not see her home to-night, believing in her
fully and entirely? Oh, yes. Whatever the world at large thought of
her, she was good enough for Jim. Yes, yes. She would promise to be
his to-night, she would not wait until next Tuesday. What was the good
of pushing happiness away when it came so close? A cup full of such
luck was not offered to every girl. She would drink it up; she would
enjoy it to the full. Then envious and malicious tongues would have to
be quiet, for she would prove by her engagement that Jim, at least,
believed in her. She drew up her head proudly as this thought came to
her.
The next act in the noisy little play was just beginning, and those who
cared for seats in the room were pushing forward; the crowd in the
passage was therefore less oppressive. Alison moved forward a step or
two, and stood in such a position that she was partly sheltered by a
curtain. She had scarcely done so before, to her great astonishment,
Hardy and Louisa came out. They stood together for a moment or two in
the comparatively deserted passage. Other characters occupied the
stage for the time being, and Louisa was glad to get into the
comparatively fresh air to cool herself.
"Oh, aint it hot?" she said. "Fan me," she added, offering Jim a huge
fan gaudily painted in many colors.
She unfurled it as she spoke, and put it into his hand.
"Make a breeze o' some sort," she said; "do, or I'll faint!"
Jim looked pleased and excited. He was fantastically dressed in the
stage costume in which he had shortly to appear. Alison, partly
sheltered by the curtain, could see well without being seen herself.
"The play is going splendid, Jim," said Louisa. "I'm ever so pleased."
"I am glad of that," replied Jim.
"I thought you would be. Well, I do feel a happy girl to-night."
"And when is it to be?" said Jim, bending down and looking earnestly
into her face.
She flushed when he spoke to her, and immediately lowered her eyes.
"I aint made up my mind quite yet," she said.
"But you will?" he replied, in a voice full of solicitude.
"I don't know. Would it please you if I did?"
"I needn't say that it would," was the reply. "I think it would make
me real happy."
"Well, ef I thought that----"
Louisa took her fan out of Jim Hardy's hand and began to toy with it in
a somewhat affected manner. Then her expression changed to one of
absolute passion.
"I don't think there is anything in heaven above, or the earth beneath,
I wouldn't do, Jim Hardy, even to please you for half an hour; to
please you is the light of life to me. So, if you wish it, let it
be--there! I can't say any more, can I?"
"You can't; you have said enough," he replied gravely. "There is our
call," he added; "we must go back. Are you cooler now?"
"Much cooler, thanks to you."
The call came a second time. Louisa hurried forward; Jim followed her.
Neither of them noticed the listening girl behind the curtain. The
next moment loud cheers filled the room as Hardy and Louisa took their
places side by side in the front of the stage.
Alison waited until the great uproar had subsided, then she slipped
into the dressing room where she had gone on her arrival, put on her
hat and jacket steadily and calmly, and went home. She had no
intention now of waiting for Jim. She never meant to wait for Jim any
more. He was false as no man had ever been false before. She would
forget him, she would drive him out of her life. He had dared to come
and talk of marriage to her when he really loved another girl; he had
dared to give her words of tenderness when his heart was with Louisa
Clay.
"It is all over," whispered Alison quite quietly under her breath.
She wondered, in a dull sort of fashion, why she felt so quiet; why she
did not suffer a great deal more; why the sense of disappointment and
cruel desertion did not break her heart. She was sure that by and by
her heart would awaken, and pain--terrible, intense pain would be her
portion; but just now she felt quiet and stunned. She was glad of
this. It was Christmas Eve, but Jim was not walking home with her.
The Christmas present she had hoped for was not to be hers. Well,
never mind, to-morrow would be Christmas Day. Jim was invited to
dinner, to that good dinner which Grannie had no right to buy, but
which Grannie had bought to give the children one last happy day.
Alison herself had made the cake and had frosted it, and Alison herself
had stirred the pudding, and had thought of Jim's face as it would look
when he sat with the children round the family board. He would never
sit there now; she must never see him again. She would write to him
the moment she got in, and then, having put him out of her life once
and for ever, she would help Grannie to keep the Merry Christmas.
She walked up the weary number of steps to the flat on the fifth floor.
She found the key under the mat, and then went in. Grannie had left
everything ready for her. Grannie had thought of a betrothed maiden
who would enter the little house with the air of a queen who had come
suddenly into her kingdom. Grannie, who was sound asleep at this
moment, had no idea that Despair itself was coming home in the last
hours just before the blessed Christmas broke. Alison opened the door
very softly, and, going into the kitchen, took down her writing
portfolio from a little shelf where she generally kept it, and wrote a
short letter to Jim.
"Dear Jim: I have made up my mind, and in this letter you will get your
final answer. I will not marry anybody until I am cleared of this
trouble about the five-pound note; and whether I am cleared or not, I
shall never marry you, _for I don't love you_. I found out to-night it
was all a mistake, and what I thought was love was not. I don't love
you, Jim, and I never wish to see you again. Please don't come to
dinner to-morrow, and please don't ever try to see me. This is final.
I don't love you; that is your answer.
"ALISON REED."
Having signed the letter in a very firm hand, Alison put it into an
envelope, addressed and stamped it. She then went out and dropped it
into a pillar-box near by. Jim would get it on Christmas morning.