"Yes, at first, but I saw at once he was forcing. Then he dictated an
answer to one of mine--dictated a letter to me----" Selma Cross halted.
The lids narrowed across her yellow eyes.
"He had said he loved you?" Paula asked with effort.
"By the way," Selma Cross retorted, "did you notice that word 'love' in
either of his recent books--except as a generality?"
"Since you speak of it, I do recall he markedly avoided it," Paula said
with consuming interest.
"No, he didn't use it to me. He said he never put it in a man's or
woman's mouth in a story. Ah, but there are other words," she went on
softly. "The man was a lover--beyond dreams--impassioned."
"About that dictated letter?" Paula urged hastily.
"Yes, I told him I didn't want any more that way. Then Villiers was
back, and beckoning again. The last word I received was from Charter's
stenographer. She said he was ill. Oh, I did hear afterward--that he was
in a sanatorium. God knows, he must have landed there--if he kept up the
pace he was going when I knew him."
In the moment of silence which followed, Paula was hoping with all her
might--that this was the end.
"Oh, I know what you're thinking!" Selma said suddenly. "He has
fascinated you, and you can't see that he's a rotten cad--from what I've
said so far. A woman can never see the meanness of a man from another
woman's experience with him. She forgives him for calling forth all
another woman has--and then shaking her loose like a soiled bath-robe
when one's tub is ready. But it's different when she's the discarded
woman!... He was so deep, I can't believe he didn't know that episodes
were new to me. Likely, he's had so many around the world, that he can't
take them more seriously from the woman's angle--than from his own....
Quentin Charter was the first man to arouse all my dreams. Can't you see
how it hurt when he turned out to be--well, that name you refuse to
utter?"
"Yes, of course, yes, but you suggest more, Selma!"
"He used me for 'copy,' as they call it. His article on the 'acting of
stage-folk after hours,' appeared in a magazine a few weeks later. He's
always a saint in his garret, you know. The article was filled with
cutting cynicism about stage-matters, many of which he had discovered in
the two weeks with me--and laughed over with his wine. I could have
forgiven that, only he made me believe that there was not a thought
apart from Selma Cross in his mind when we were together.... Oh, what's
the use of me lying? I could have forgiven that, anyway!"
"What was it, you could not forgive?" Paula's face was bloodless.
"He told it all about--how easy I had proved in his hands!" the actress
revealed with suppressed fury.
The other shrank back.
"That's where the expression comes in, Paula--the expression you hate.
Drunk or sober--cad's the word. What a woman gives to a _man_ is put in
his inner vault forever. What she gives to a _cad_--is passed on to his
friends."
Paula arose, tortured as if branded within. Here was a defection of
character which an entire incarnation of purity could not make whole. It
was true that in her heart, she had not been mortally stricken before;
true, as Selma Cross had so bitterly declared, that a woman is not
stayed from mating with a man because a sister has suffered at his
hands.
"I have nothing to say about the word, if that is true." Paula spoke
with difficulty, and in a hopeless tone.
"Please, eat some supper, dear----"
There was heart-break in the answer: "I cannot. I'm distressed, because
I have spoiled yours.... You have answered everything readily--and it
has hurt you.... I--feel--as--if--I--must--tell--you--why--I--asked--or
I wouldn't have dared to force questions upon you. His letters made me
think of him a great deal. When you picked up his book the other morning
and said _that_--why, it was all I could stand for the time. His work is
so high and brave--I can hardly understand how he could talk about a
woman whose only fault was that she gave him what he desired. Are you
sure he cannot prove that false?"
Selma Cross left her seat at the table and took Paula in her arms.
"How can he?" she whispered. "The old man knew all about us. One of his
friends heard Charter talking about the easy virtue of stage women--that
there were scarcely no exceptions! Charter hinted in his article that
acting is but refined prostitution. Villiers said because I had a name
for being square Charter had chosen to prove otherwise!... Then see how
he dropped me--not a word in three years from my memorable lover! And
Villiers knew about us--first and last!... I could murder that sort--and
to think that his devil's gift has been working upon you----"
"You have told me quite enough, thank you." Paula interrupted in a
lifeless voice. "I shall not see him."
Selma Cross held her off at arms' length to glance at her face. "You
what?" she exclaimed.
"He is on the way to New York and will be at the _Granville_ to-morrow
afternoon, where he hopes to find a note saying he may call here
to-morrow night. There shall be no note from me----"
"But did you write to him, Paula?" the actress asked strangely excited.
"Yes--a little after you left me the other morning. It was silly of me.
Oh, but I did not tell him what I had heard--or who told me!... Finish
your supper--you must go."
"And how did you learn of his coming?"
"He telegraphed me to-day. That's why I bothered you at your supper----"
"What a dramatic situation--if you decided to see him!" Selma Cross said
intensely. "And to think--that to-morrow is Sunday night and I don't
work!"
Paula felt brutalized by the change in the other's manner. "I have
decided not to see him," she repeated, and left the apartment.