Winifred had grown stout, which, on a slim, small-boned woman is
quickly apparent; and, to Clive, her sleepy, uncertain grey eyes
seemed even nearer together than he remembered them.
She was seated in the yellow and white living-room of her apartment at
the Regina, still holding the card he had sent up; and she made no
movement to rise when her maid announced him and ushered him in, or to
greet him at all except with a slight nod and a slighter gesture
indicating a chair across the room.
He said: "I did not know until this morning that you were in this
country."
"Was it necessary to inform you?"
"No, not necessary," he said, "unless you have come to some definite
decision concerning our future relations."
Her eyes seemed to grow sleepier and nearer together than ever.
"Why," he asked, wearily, "have you employed an agency to have me
followed?"
She lifted her drooping lids and finely pencilled brows. "Have you
been followed?"
"At intervals, as you know. Would you mind saying why? Because you
have always been welcome to divorce."
She sat silent, slowly tearing into tiny squares the card he had sent
up. Presently, as at an afterthought, she collected all the fragments
and placed them in a heap on the table beside her.
"Well?" she inquired, glancing up at him. "Is that all you have to
say?"
"I don't know what to say until you tell me why you have had me
followed and why you yourself are here."
Her gaze remained fixed on the heap of little pasteboard squares which
she shifted across the polished table-top from one position to
another. She said:
"The case against you was complete enough before last night. I fancy
even you will admit that."
"You are wrong," he replied wearily. "Somehow or other I believe you
know that you are wrong. But I suppose a jury might not think so."
"Would you care to tell a jury that this trance-medium is not your
mistress?"
"I should not care to defend her on such a charge before a jury or
before anybody. There are various ways of damning a woman; and to
defend her from that accusation is one of them."
"And another way?"
"To admit the charge. Either ruin her in the eyes of the truly
virtuous."
"What do you expect to do about it then? Keep silent?"
"That is still a third way of destroying a woman."
"Really? Then what are you going to do?"
"Whatever you wish," he said in a low voice, "as long as you do not
bring such a charge against Athalie Greensleeve."
"Would you set your signature to a paper?"
"I have given you my word. I have never lied to you."
She looked up at him out of narrowing eyes:
"You might this time. I prefer your signature."
He reddened and sat twirling the silver crook of his walking-stick
between restless hands.
"Very well," he said quietly; "I will sign what you wish, with the
understanding that Miss Greensleeve is to remain immune from any lying
accusation.... And I'll tell you now that any accusation questioning
her chastity is a falsehood."
His wife smiled: "You see," she said, "your signature _will_ be
necessary."
"Do you think I am lying?"
"What do I care whether you are or not? Do you suppose the alleged
chastity of a common fortune-teller interests me? All I know is that
you have found your level, and that I need protection. If you choose
to concede it to me without a public scandal, I shall permit you to do
so. If not, I shall begin an action against you and name the woman
with whom you spent last night!"
There was, in the thin, flute-like, and mincingly fastidious voice
something so subtly vicious that her words left him silent.
Still leisurely arranging and re-arranging her little heap of
pasteboard, her near-set eyes intent on its symmetry, she spoke
again:
"I could marry Innisbrae or any one of several others! But I do not
care to; I am comfortable. And that is where you have made your
mistake. I do not desire a divorce! But,"--she lifted her narrow
eyes--"if you force me to a separation I shall not shrink from it. And
I shall name that woman."
"Then--what is it you want?" he asked with a sinking heart.
"Not a divorce; not even a separation; merely respectability. I wish
you to give up business in New York and present yourself in England at
decent intervals of--say once every year. What you do in the
interludes is of no interest to me. As long as you do not establish a
business and a residence anywhere I don't care what you do. You may
come back and live with this woman if you choose."
After a silence he said: "Is that what you propose?"
"It is."
"And you came over here to collect sufficient evidence to force me?"
"I had no other choice."
He nodded: "By your own confession, then, you believe either in her
chastity and my sense of honour, or that, even guilty, I care so much
for her that any threat against her happiness can effectually coerce
me."
"Your language is becoming a trifle involved."
"No; _I_ am involved. I realise it. And if I am not absolutely
honourable and unselfish in this matter I shall involve the woman I
had hoped to marry."
"I thought so," she said, reverting to her heap of pasteboard.
"If you think so," he continued, "could you not be a little generous?"
"How?"
"Divorce me--not by naming her--and give me a chance in life."
"No," she said coolly, "I don't care for a divorce. I am comfortable
enough. Why should I inconvenience myself because you wish to marry
your mistress?"
"In decency and in--charity--to me. It will cost you little. You
yourself admit that it is a matter of personal indifference to you
whether or not you are entirely and legally free of me."
"Did you ever do anything to deserve my generosity?" she inquired
coldly.
"I don't know. I have tried."
"I have never noticed it," she retorted with a slight sneer.
He said: "Since my first offence against you--and against
myself--which was marrying you--I have attempted in every way I knew
to repair the offence, and to render the mistake endurable to you. And
when I finally learned that there was only one way acceptable to you,
I followed that way and kept myself out of your sight.
"My behaviour, perhaps, entitles me to no claim upon your generosity,
yet I did my best, Winifred, as unselfishly as I knew how. Could you
not; in your turn, be a little unselfish now?... Because I have a
chance for happiness--if you would let me take it."
She glanced at him out of her close-set, sleepy eyes:
"I would not lift a finger to oblige you," she said. "You have
inconvenienced me, annoyed me, disarranged my tranquil, orderly, and
blameless mode of living, causing me social annoyance and personal
irritation by coming here and engaging in business, and living openly
with a common and notorious woman who practises a fraudulent and
vulgar business.
"Why should I show you any consideration? And if you really have
fallen so low that you are ready to marry her, do you suppose it would
be very flattering for me to have it known that your second wife, my
successor, was such a woman?"
He sat thinking for a while, his white, care-worn face framed between
his gloved hands.
"Your friends," he said in a low voice, "know you as a devout woman.
You adhere very strictly to your creed. Is there nothing in it that
teaches forbearance?"
"There is nothing in it that teaches me to compromise with evil," she
retorted; and her small cupid-bow mouth, grew pinched.
"If you honestly believe that this young girl is really my mistress,"
he said, "would it not be decent of you, if it lies within your power,
to permit me to regularise my position--and hers?"
"Is it any longer my affair if you and she have publicly damned
yourselves?"
"Yet if you do believe me guilty, you can scarcely deny me the chance
of atonement, if it is within your power."
She lifted her eyes and coolly inspected him: "And suppose I do _not_
believe you guilty of breaking your marriage vows?" she inquired.
He was silent.
"Am I to understand," she continued, "that you consider it my duty to
suffer the inconvenience of divorcing you in order that you may
further advertise this woman by marrying her?"
He looked into her close-set eyes; and hope died. She said: "If you
care to affix your signature to the agreement which my attorneys have
already drawn up, then matters may remain as they are, provided you
carry out your part of the contract. If you don't, I shall begin
action immediately and I shall name the woman on whose account you
seem to entertain such touching anxiety."
"Is that your threat?"
"It is my purpose, dictated by every precept of decency, morality,
religion, and the inviolable sanctity of marriage."
He laughed and gathered up his hat and stick:
"Your moral suasion, I am afraid, slightly resembles a sort of
sanctimonious blackmail, Winifred. The combination of morality,
religion, and yourself is too powerful for me to combat.... So if my
choice must be between permitting morality to publicly besmirch this
young girl's reputation, and affixing my signature to the agreement
you suggest, I have no choice but to sign my name."
"Is that your decision?"
He nodded.
"Very well. My attorneys and a notary are in the next room with the
papers necessary. If you would be good enough to step in a moment--"
He looked at her and laughed again: "Is there," he said, "anything
lower than a woman?--or anything higher?"