In the days that followed, Cicily found herself on the very verge of
despair. She had pinned the hope of success for her husband on a
restored influence with the wives of the leaders in the strike. She had
felt confident that, with them fighting in her behalf, she would achieve
victory. She had not doubted that these women could mold the men to
their will. Now, however, she had, to a great extent, lost faith in the
efficacy of this method. She had seen and heard those husbands defy
their womankind openly. They, too, were obstinate in their belief that
women should not obtrude into business affairs. She realized that she
was combating one of the most tangible and potent factors in human
affairs, the pride of the male in his dominion over the female--an
hereditary endowment, a thing of natural instinct, the last and most
resistant to yield before the presentations of reason. The resolute
fashion in which her husband held to his prerogative of sole control was
merely typical. These other men of a humbler class were like unto him.
Evidently, then, she must contrive some other strategy, if she would
save her husband from the pit he had digged for himself by yielding to
the specious processes of Morton and Carrington. Yet, she could imagine
no scheme that offered any promise of success.... She grew thinner, so
that her loveliness took on an ethereal quality. Her nights were well
nigh sleepless; her days became long hours of harrowing anxiety.
She was sitting in her boudoir late one afternoon, still revolving the
round of failure in her plans. She had dressed to go out; but, at the
last moment, a wave of discouragement had swept over her, and she had
sunk down on a couch, moodily feeling that any exertion whatsoever were
a thing altogether useless. She was disturbed from her morbid
reflections by the entrance of a servant, who announced the presence of
Mr. Morton and Mr. Carrington in the drawing-room, who had called to see
Mr. Hamilton. In sheer desperation, with no precise idea as to her
course, Cicily resolved to interview these callers, since her husband
had not yet returned home. So, she bade the servant inform the gentlemen
that Mr. Hamilton was expected to return very soon, and that in the
meantime she would be glad to give them a cup of tea. As soon as the
servant had left the room, she regarded herself minutely in the mirror,
made some adjustments to the masses of her golden brown hair, pinched
her pale checks until roses grew in them, observed that her skirt hung
properly, and then descended to the drawing-room, which she entered with
an air of smiling hospitality, of luminous loveliness, of radiant
youthfulness, calculated to beguile the sternest of men from their
habitual discretion.
The two gentlemen rose to greet her with every indication of pleasure.
As a matter of fact, they enjoyed the charm that radiated from the
beautiful young woman, but, in addition, they rejoiced in this
opportunity to gather from her carelessness some information that the
reserve of her husband would certainly have withheld. It was with
deliberate suggestion that Morton addressed her heartily as "Mrs.
Partner," having in mind a former interview, in which she had so
declared herself. But it was Carrington who, after the three were
seated, and while waiting for the tea-equipage, ventured to introduce
the topic of his desires directly by asking how business was.
"Oh, business is booming!" Cicily answered, with such a manner of
enthusiasm that it hoodwinked her hearers completely. They uttered
ejaculations of surprise involuntarily, but managed to refrain from any
more open expressions of wonder. "Oh, yes, indeed!" Cicily continued,
following blindly an instinct of prevarication that had been suddenly
born within her brain. "Isn't it splendid? We just ended our strike
to-day." She stared intently at Carrington with sparkling eyes. It
filled her with secret delight to witness the expression of
consternation on that gentleman's face; and she could not resist the
temptation to add maliciously, although she veiled her voice: "I know
that you're glad for us, Mr. Carrington. I can just tell it by looking
at you."
"Er--oh--yes, of course," Carrington stammered hastily, the while he
attempted a wry smile. He pulled his handkerchief from a pocket, and
wiped his forehead.
"Yes, indeed; we're both delighted," Morton added quickly, to cover the
too evident confusion of his associate.
"Ah," Cicily went on gloatingly, turning the iron in the wound
relentlessly, "it does surely make you feel good when you win a strike,
doesn't it? Next to an Easter hat, I think the winning of a strike is
the grandest sensation!"
"So, you really won?" Morton inquired, half-suspiciously.
"Oh, yes!" Cicily assured him, with an inflection of absolute sincerity.
Then, abruptly, the expression of her face changed to one of alarm,
mingled with cajolery. "But, please, Mr. Morton," she pleaded, "you
won't say anything about it, will you? Charles doesn't wish to have it
announced just yet, for some reason or another."
"No, certainly not, Mrs. Hamilton," Morton assured her. "We won't tell
of it."
"Thank you so much!" was the grateful response; and Cicily fairly
dazzled the puzzled gentlemen by the brilliancy of her smile. "You
know," she continued mournfully, "Charles did scold me so after you were
here that other time when I talked to you. He scolded me really
frightfully for talking so much.... It didn't do a bit of good my
telling him that I didn't say a thing. But I didn't, did I?" She asked
the question with the ingenuous air of an innocent child, which imposed
on the two men completely.
"Indeed, you didn't!" Morton declared with much heartiness, as he
darted a monitory glance toward Carrington. "Why, for a business woman,
I thought you a very model of discretion, Mrs. Hamilton. And so did
Carrington--eh, Carrington?"
"Exactly!" Carrington agreed under this urging of his master. "If all
women in business were like Mrs. Hamilton here, business would not be so
difficult."
Cicily felt the sneer in the words, but she deemed it the part of
prudence to conceal any resentment. On the contrary, she assumed a
hypocritical air of triumph.
"Good! I'll tell that to Charles," she declared, joyously. "You know
he's such a horribly suspicious person that he doesn't trust anyone."
Once again, she turned to Morton with an alluring smile. "Of course, he
ought to be very glad, indeed, to trust you, his father's oldest
friend."
"I hope that you told him that," Morton replied primly, albeit he was
hard put to it to prevent himself from chuckling aloud over the naivete
of this indiscreet young woman.
Cicily maintained her mask of guilelessness.
"Yes, indeed, I did!... He said that was why he didn't trust you."
Morton saw fit to change the rather delicate subject.
"It must be a matter of great satisfaction that you have at last won
this strike," he remarked, somewhat inanely.
"Of course, it is," Cicily agreed, with a renewal of her former
enthusiasm. "Oh, I'm so glad, because now we can pay our men their old
wages! That's how we won the strike, you know," she went on, with a
manner of simplicity that was admirably feigned; "just by giving in to
them. All we had to do was to give them what they wanted, and everything
was all settled right away."
"Ahem!" Morton cleared his throat to disguise the laugh that would come.
"Yes. I've known a good many strikes that were won in that same way."
Carrington, who had been ruminating with a puzzled face, now voiced his
difficulty.
"To save my life," he exclaimed to Morton, "I don't see how Hamilton can
pay the old wages, and deliver boxes at eleven cents. I couldn't do it!"
"Why, you see, that's just it," Cicily declared blithely, still
following her inspiration with blind faith. "We're not going to deliver
boxes at eleven cents."
At this amazing statement, the two men first regarded their hostess in
sheer astonishment, then stared at each other as if in search of a clue
to the mystery in her words. The entrance of a maid with the tea-tray
afforded a brief diversion, as Cicily rose and seated herself at the
table, where she busied herself in preparing the three cups. When this
was accomplished, and the guests had received each his portion,
Carrington at once reverted to the announcement that had so bewildered
him.
"You say, you're not going to deliver boxes for eleven cents?" he said,
tentatively.
"No," Cicily replied earnestly, without the slightest hesitation; "we're
going to sell to the independents at fifteen. We've gone in with them,
now." She felt a grim secret delight as she observed the unmistakable
confusion with which her news was received by the two men before her.
"You say you've gone in with the independents?" Carrington repeated,
helplessly. His mouth hung open in indication of the turmoil in his
wits as he waited for her reply.
"Yes, that's it!" Cicily reiterated, with an inflection of surpassing
gladness over the event. "Oh, it does make me so happy, because now, you
see, we can all be genuinely friendly together. We're not competitors
any more."
But now, at last, Morton's temper overcame his caution. He turned to
Carrington with a frown that made his satellite quake; but the
fierceness of it was not for that miserable victim of his machinations:
it was undoubtedly for Hamilton, who, according to the wife's
revelations, dared pit himself against the trust by violating his
contracts with it.
"We'll see Meyers about this," Morton declared, savagely. "So, he'd go
in with the independents, would he? Well, let him try it on--that's
all!"
Cicily stared from one to the other of the two men, with her golden eyes
wide and frightened.
"Oh," she stammered nervously, "did I--have I said anything?... Oh, my
goodness, Charles will be so angry!"
She maintained her attitude and expression of acute distress, while the
two men rose, and, very rudely, without a word of excuse to their
hostess, moved to the far end of the drawing-room, where they were out
of earshot. But, on the instant when their backs were turned, the
volatile young wife cast off her mock anxiety, and, in the very best of
spirits, wrinkled her nose saucily at the disturbed twain.... And, as
long as they conferred together, with no eyes for her, she sat alertly
erect, smiling to herself, as one highly gratified by the course of
events.
"Now, if only Charles doesn't spoil things again!" she murmured.