AN OLD TEMPTATION REVIVED.
Helen had entered three new pupils on her books at the beginning of the
fall, these increasing her class to thirteen, and she had also been
engaged, for an early date in October, to sing at a charity fair, to be
held under the auspices of one of the wealthy clubs of the city. This
seemed quite a promising outlook so early in the season, and she was
also hoping much from her new venture as entertainer at private social
functions.
The fair was extensively advertised, and was held for four afternoons
and evenings of the second week in October, Helen appearing twice upon
each occasion, and proving such a drawing card that a score of
engagements for fashionable receptions was the result of her success.
This was far more than she had dared to expect, and she was much elated
over her good fortune. Everything moved along peacefully and
prosperously until spring, John bearing his confinement in his uncle's
office better than she had anticipated, and was apparently content with
his salary. But as the warm weather came on again she could see that
he began to chafe under his confinement in the city and to his work.
He had his vacation of two weeks in August, however, when he made a
trip to Chicago, instead of going into the country, greatly to his
wife's astonishment at the time. On his return he seemed in high
spirits, saying he had had a fine trip, and resumed his duties with
apparent cheerfulness.
A week later there appeared upon the billboards about the city flaring
advertisements stating that the Wells Opera Company, with beautiful
Marie Duncan as star, would present the "Prince of Pilsen" early in
October. The newspapers also contained notices of the same fact, and
stated that Miss Duncan had just concluded a summer engagement in
Chicago, and was now resting for a few weeks before taking up her work
in San Francisco.
At once Helen understood John's motive in going to Chicago to spend his
vacation; also his unusual cheerfulness upon his return; and a
foreboding of impending trouble began to haunt her from that moment.
When the Wells Opera Company arrived, Helen made it a point to attend a
matinee, to ascertain for herself what the personality of the popular
favorite was like.
That she was exceedingly beautiful and peculiarly fascinating there was
no denying, and her voice was a marvel of sweetness.
John had never painted anything more true to life than the portrait she
had discovered in his studio in Paris; although, if that were possible,
the siren's charms were riper and even more alluring than at that time.
Nevertheless, there was a vein of coarseness in her manner, a boldness
in her glance and smile, a voluptuous abandon in her acting, that
offended and repelled Helen's finer sensibilities, and sent her home
sick at heart, with mingled fear and jealousy; for, down deep in her
consciousness, she was forced to acknowledge that it was just these
elements in Marie Duncan that appealed to something of the same nature
in her husband's character, and was winning him from his allegiance to
his wife.
She wondered what had become of that portrait. She had never seen it
since that never-to-be-forgotten day when she had visited Monsieur
Jacques in such distress, to seek some explanation of John's prolonged
absence from home.
John certainly had not brought it back to America with him. Whither
had it disappeared? Had he destroyed it, fearing it might some time
betray him?
Suddenly her outraged heart awoke to the truth, and her face flamed
hotly with indignation and humiliation as she recalled the reproduction
she had seen in the magazine she had found under John's pillow in his
berth on the steamer, as they were returning from France.
John had finished his picture; he had given it to the actress before
she sailed for Australia, and she had allowed it to be copied by the
press.
It seemed to Helen that her cup of woe was filled to the brim--her
endurance taxed to the limit, as she began to query within herself what
would be the outcome of Marie Duncan's present engagement in San
Francisco. But the courage that is born in heroes had also been
planted in Helen Hungerford's heart, and, after the first shock of
dismay had passed, she began to ask what she could do to counteract
Marie's influence and keep her husband loyal to her and true to
himself. To reveal her suspicions, to voice complaints, criticisms, or
reproaches would only serve to make matters worse; for John was one who
would never bear censure or opposition in any form. Her only hope lay
in being tactful and diplomatic, in trying to make herself and their
home so attractive that he would be weaned from his infatuation for the
opera star, and realize the folly of ruining his reputation and
domestic peace.
So she bravely resolved to conceal every evidence of anxiety. John was
in absolute ignorance of the fact that she even dreamed of his interest
in the actress, and she realized the wisdom of still concealing it from
him. She said nothing of her afternoon at the matinee; she never
referred to the opera, or expressed a desire to see it; neither did her
husband invite her to go, as was usual whenever anything new, of a
musical nature, was running; but she began a systematic course of
acting herself, using every possible device to keep him with his
family, catering to his tastes and humoring his lightest wish or whim.
She asked him to be her escort to and from the social functions at
which she was entertaining; she planned pleasures that would include
them all, and tried to interest him in books she was reading.
But all was of no avail. He always had some plausible excuse to get
away from home evenings, and often did not return until the small hours
of the morning; he manifested less and less interest in his family; he
was morose and preoccupied, avoiding conversation, and at times was
exceedingly irritable with Dorothy.
Previous to this, since he had been in his uncle's employ, he had
cheerfully contributed a part of his salary to help defray household
expenses; but now he suddenly began to withhold his money, or, if
reminded that funds were needed, doled out a mere pittance so
grudgingly that Helen shrank from the humiliation of asking assistance
and being so inconsiderately treated.
This state of things continued far into the winter, the breach between
the man and his family continually widening, for Dorothy was beginning
to take notice, while he began to be irregular at his business and to
show the effect of late hours and dissipation.
One afternoon, on returning from an engagement at an out-of-town
reception, Helen found, to her great surprise, Mr. Nathan Young, John's
uncle and employer, awaiting her. It was the first time she had seen
him for many months, for, aside from his one act of giving her husband
his present position, he had never manifested the slightest interest in
the family.
He was rated a very rich man, but, having a fashionable wife and four
daughters to maintain, he was wholly absorbed in his business and
individual responsibilities.
Helen had never been asked to entertain at any of Madam Young's
receptions, although she had sent her, early in the season, a card
announcing her intentions; neither had she ever met any of the family
in the homes of her patrons; and now, when, after greeting her visitor
with graceful courtesy, she threw aside her wrap and stood before him
in her fresh young beauty and charming costume, the man stared at her
in astonishment.
"Really, Mrs. John Hungerford, you look like the wife of a
millionaire," he brusquely observed, a note of keen irony in his tones.
Helen flushed consciously.
She realized that she must appear extravagantly attired to one who did
not understand the situation. The next moment she smiled frankly up
into her companion's face.
"Perhaps you do not know, Mr. Young, that, for two years, I have been
singing at social functions given by fashionable people, to help John
meet the expenses of the family?" she explained.
"No, I didn't know it," he curtly returned, his shrewd eyes still
studying her costume.
"Of course," Helen went on, "going before such audiences, I am obliged
to dress well; but"--with an air of quiet dignity, for she felt that
the man was rude to her--"as I earn all my own clothes, as well as
Dorothy's, I am wronging no one."
"Humph!" Nathan Young grunted, although his glance softened; for truly
Helen was very pleasant to look upon as she stood before him in her
trailing gown of soft blue silk, tastefully trimmed with real lace that
had belonged to her mother; she also wore some fine jewels which had
come to her from the same source, and the man, now that he
comprehended, secretly liked her spirit and frankness in telling him
just how matters stood.
She showed a turn for business that pleased him, and he chuckled within
himself over her statement that she earned all her own and Dorothy's
clothes. Money getting had been his one aim from his youth up; he
liked to see people work hard for money; he had no patience with
drones. He had always viewed John's idiotic dabbling in paints with
undisguised contempt, and had never shown the least interest in his
career as an artist.
Presently he broke forth, almost sharply:
"Where is that husband of yours?"
"John? Hasn't he been at the office to-day?" Helen inquired, in a
startled tone.
"I've seen nothing of him for nearly a week," the gentleman replied,
with a frown of displeasure.
"You have not seen John for nearly a week!" repeated the astonished
wife, aghast.
"That is what I said," was the curt rejoinder. "And this isn't the
first time he has neglected his business, by any means, though he has
never stayed away so long before. I'm tired of his shilly-shallying,
and he has always worked with an air of protest, as if he felt the
position beneath him. I just dropped in to see if he were ill, or had
any good reason to offer for his absence."
"No, John is perfectly well, and I am amazed at what you have told me,
Mr. Young," Helen observed, with tremulous lips, her composure sadly
shaken.
The man arose, an ominous gleam in his eyes.
"Well, then, you can tell him from me that he need not show up at the
office again," he coldly observed, at the same time laying an envelope
on the table before Helen. "Here is his pay up to the end of the
month. He hasn't earned it, but it's what I agreed to give him, and
I'm a man of my word. I hoped," he continued, less sharply, after a
momentary pause, during which his glance fell upon his companion's
colorless face, "when he came to me for a position he had given up his
nonsense about art, and had made up his mind to settle down to
something worth while, and I meant to do well by him--take him in with
me, by and by, perhaps, if he showed any backbone or interest in the
business; but it is evident that he cares more for his own ease and
pleasure than for anything else, and--I'm through with him."
Helen's heart sank within her. She dare not think what might be the
consequences if John lost his position just at this time. It would
leave him with no responsibility, and with nothing to do but to dance
attendance upon Marie Duncan.
She felt it would mean utter ruin for their domestic happiness. He
might not mend his ways even if his uncle retained him in his service,
since his infatuation for the actress had become so strong; but it
would at least be something to hold him from spending all his time with
her. To be suddenly cut off like this seemed like the parting asunder
of the cable that held their only anchor of hope, thus leaving them
drifting helplessly upon a treacherous sea.
"Oh, pray do not say that, Mr. Young!" she pleaded, with whitening
lips. "John needs to be encouraged, to be held by some responsibility.
Will you not kindly give him another trial?"
"No, I have borne all I shall from him," gruffly replied Nathan Young,
but shifting uneasily under the look in her imploring eyes. "John has
no sense of responsibility, no idea of duty in connection with himself
or any one else. His only thought is to drift comfortably with the
current; when there is any rowing to be done he thrusts it upon some
one else every time. I've been studying him ever since he came to me,
and I know. He will never be 'held,' as you put it, except by his own
will--at least, until he has had some lesson in life that will make a
stronger impression upon him than any he has had yet. There, I've had
my say! It has taken me longer to make up my mind to this, perhaps,
than you have any idea, for he was my sister's boy, and I owed her
something; but when I finally come to a decision about anything the
matter is settled. I am sorry for you, though, Mrs. Hungerford--upon
my word, I am. I don't believe it has been easy navigating for you, in
spite of the brave front you show to the world," he concluded, with a
touch of honest sympathy, while he wondered if she had any suspicion of
how or where her husband was spending the most of his time.
He had been investigating the movements of his recreant nephew of late,
and he had learned that his companions and pursuits were not at all to
his credit.
Helen stood cold and haughty before him. She was stung to the quick by
the man's harsh arraignment and curt dismissal of her husband; yet she
knew, in her heart, that he was justified in both. At the same time,
John was her husband, and the father of her child, and she was bound to
defend him--to be loyal to him as long as defense and loyalty were
possible.
She saw that it was useless to expect any concession from Mr. Young,
that it would be a waste of time and energy to argue with him. So she
braced herself to meet the inevitable with what composure she could
command, and observed, with an air of quiet dignity:
"I will give Mr. Hungerford your message, Mr. Young. I deeply regret
that you have been so disappointed in your expectations regarding him.
I feel confident, however, that there is good in him," she went on,
with wifely fealty; "that some time it will be developed, and that he
will win for himself a place and a name in the world. I trust Madam
Young and the young ladies are well?" she graciously concluded, as she
saw that her visitor was becoming restive and anxious to terminate the
interview.
"Thank you; they are in their usual health," he replied, eagerly
seizing the opportunity she had so gracefully made for him, and his hat
at the same time.
Helen followed him to the door, where she bade him a courteous "good
afternoon;" then, as he passed from her presence, she sank,
strengthless, upon a chair, looking the picture of despair.
"Truly my burden is becoming heavier than I can bear," she moaned, in
bitterness of spirit.