Both women were dry-eyed as they embraced. Belle showed signs of
fatigue, so Selene made her comfortable on the divan.
"Shall I ring for tea, Belle?" The other nodded. Then she burst forth:
"And to think, Selene, to think that we should be the unlucky victims.
To think that my dearest friend should be the wife of my husband." She
began to laugh. Selene would not smile. The tea was brought by a
man-servant, who did not lift his eyes, but the corners of his mouth
twitched when he turned his back. Belle sipping the hot, comforting
drink looked about her curiously. The apartment reflected unity of
taste. It was rather low, and long, the ceiling panelled and covered
with dull gilt arabesques. The walls were hung with soft material upon
which were embroidered fugitive figures heavily powdered with gold dust.
One wide window with a low sill covered the end of this room, and over
the fireplace was swung a single painting, "The Rape of the Rhinegold,"
by a German master. The grand piano loaded with music occupied the lower
part of the room and there were plenty of books in the cases. Belle
reflected that Sig's taste was artistic and sighed at the recollection
of her--of their--big, bare, uncanny house on the hill. Selene began:
"Belle, dear, I'm glad to see you, sorry to see you. The odious
newspapers were the cause of your discovering the crime--don't stop
me--the crime of that wretch downstairs--" Belle started. "I sha'n't
mince words with you. Sig was a scamp, a gifted rascal; his singing and
artistic love-making the cause of many a woman's downfall."
"Oh, then there are some more?" asked Belle, in a most interested voice.
"Yes, there are many more; but my dear girl, we mustn't become morbid
and discuss the matter. I'm afraid what we are doing now is in rather
bad taste, but I'm too fond of you, too fond of the girl I went to
school with to quarrel because a bad man deceived us. I've been laying
down the law to Val, Belle; we must _not_ be present at the funeral.
We've got to bury our headstrong husband and we both can see the last of
him from the closed windows, but neither of us must be present. Now,
don't shake your head! In this matter I'm determined; besides what would
the newspapers say? One miserable sheet actually compared us to
Brünnhilde and Gutrune because--oh, you know why!"
"When Sig left the opera-house," continued Belle, in a calm voice, "he
always took a special train home and I suppose the railroad men gave the
story to the reporters."
"Not always; excuse me, Belle," contradicted Selene, in her coldest
manner; "the last time Sig sang 'Götterdämmerung' he returned here."
Belle stood up and waved her teaspoon.
"Now, don't be ridiculous, Selene; this was not as much his home as ours
in the mountains, and--"
"There is no necessity of becoming excited, Belle; he told me of his
affair with you." Selene's blue eyes were opened very wide. The other
woman began to blaze.
"Affair? Why, foolish child, I am his first wife--" "Common-law wife,"
interjected Selene. "His first, his legal wife, and I mean to test it in
the courts. His property--" "You mean his debts, Belle," interrupted
Selene, contemptuously. "Sig owes even for his Siegfried helmet. He
gambled his money away. He played poker-dice when he wasn't singing
Wagner, and flirted when he wasn't drunk."
Belle sat down and laughed again, and this time Selene joined in.
"Tell me, dear, how and when he persuaded you," inquired Belle. Selene
grew snappish. "Oh, you read the papers. We were married last month with
Val as witness; then some fool got hold of the story; it was printed.
Sig came home after the opera and told me that he was ruined because he
had expected a fortune from Mrs. Madison--you know the old bleached
blonde who sits in the first tier box at the opera--and, of course, I
smelt another affair. I scolded him and sent for Val. Well, Val was a
perfect fool on the subject of Sig, and when he heard of the gambling
debts he said a lawyer might straighten the affair out. That night Sig
began drinking absinthe and brandy, and in the morning James, the
butler, found him dead. If the papers hadn't got hold of your story,
the thing could have been nicely settled. As it is we are simply
ridiculous, and the worst of all is that the management and the
stockholders insist on a public funeral and speeches; Sig was such a
favorite. Think! he was the first great American Wagner singer; and so
here are we, a pair of fools in love with the same man"--"Excuse me,
Selene, I never loved him. He forced me to marry him." "And my own
brother, Belle, with his nonsensical Wagner worship, drove me to marry a
man I had only met twice." Selene sighed.
"We were fools," they said in chorus, as Val entered, his eyes red from
weeping. "You silly, silly boy, Sig never cared a rap for any one on
earth but himself. Look at us and follow our example in grieving," and
the widows laughed almost hysterically....