CHAPTER XIII

When I entered the room I had no intention of engaging in a slanging match. I had telephoned my coming and her sister was awaiting me. I felt almost sorry for the girl standing beside the bed, her eyes meeting mine uncertainly, her lips forcing a greeting.

"Won't you sit down? Fannie, here is Mrs. Hartley...."

The woman in the bed turned and raised herself on her elbow. Her face was swollen, the lips blue and loose, and her eyes had the look of watery gelatine. Without meeting my eyes, she moaned theatrically and buried her face in the pillows.

"What--_what_ must you think of me?" she whined.

"I think you're a fool!" slipped out before I could prevent it.

"All women are fools--we're all fools over some man," she exclaimed, pounding the pillows with her fist and working herself up to a Zazaesque brand of hysteria.

"Mrs. F., I did not come here to listen to a dissertation on the sex-question nor to hold your hand while you have a fit of nerves. You've got to pull yourself together or I'll wash my hands of the whole affair. I've come all the way from New York to help you out of a nasty, a _dirty_ scrape. If you wish to hear what I have to say you'll stop that silliness and act like a full-grown woman with a modicum of discretion.... Your husband is apt to walk in at any moment and it may be well for all concerned that we arrive at some plan of defence."

Her sister, who had retired to a corner of the room behind me when I sat down, now crossed to the bedside.

"Mrs. Hartley is right, Fannie--Frank is liable to show up at any minute."

Fannie fished for her handkerchief under the pillows and sniffed tearfully while her sister arranged the pillows.

"Please pardon me, Mrs. Hartley; my nerves are all gone."

"I have a few nerves, myself," I thought. I found myself grasping the arms of my chair as one sometimes does at the dentist's and my teeth fairly ached from the clinching of my jaws. When Mrs. F. had folded and dropped her hands into her lap with the air of a long-suffering woman, I proceeded.

"Mr. Hartley and I have decided that you are my guest: that it was at my invitation you went to Cleveland with us and that I urged you to continue on the trip until your husband returned from his hunting trip. On your arrival here, you contracted a heavy cold which developed into the grippe; grippe will answer as well as anything else and is not sufficiently serious to call in a physician. Are you familiar with the symptoms of the grippe?" Mrs. F. nodded.

"Very well. When you began to grow worse you telegraphed your sister."

"But," interjected the sister, "that won't do; that won't hold together because Frank called me up on the telephone a few moments after he returned to Chicago and I told him I didn't know where Fannie was...." I stopped to think....

"Then we'll have to make the telegram reach you immediately _after_ he telephoned and, as he disappeared so abruptly without telling even his office force where he was going, you have an explanation for not being able to reach him.... Now, about the Cleveland week: you didn't know that your sister had gone away because you yourself were out of town. I believe that really was the case, was it not?"

"Quite true," replied the sister. "I was spending a few days at Wheaton."

"Then so far, it is clear, is it not?... Mr. Hartley will take care of the article which appeared in the Club Window ... and if your husband arrives, I'll try to take care of him.... Now, ... let us think: are there any points we have overlooked?" There was a silence while each of us reviewed the situation. It was Mrs. F. who spoke first.

"Suppose--suppose Frank has set detectives on my track and they find out that you've not been to Cleveland! O, I'm sure he'll do it! It's just like Frank! You don't know what a brute he can be. O, it's all very well to say that I am to blame--that I am in the wrong, but if you had lived with Frank for eight years as I have you'd understand some things--and not treat me as if I was a ----"

"Stop that!" I felt my eyes snap with the blaze she had kindled. She snivelled and sobbed a bit, then relaxed into sullen silence.

"If your husband _has_ employed detectives we'll have to meet the contingency by standing together. In other words we'll perjure ourselves like--perfect ladies. Mr. Hartley says--and being a man he ought to know--that no man would have the courage to tell me I was not telling the truth, even if he thought so."

"We'll never get away with it--we'll never get away with it," wailed Mrs. F.

It was the sister who spoke next.

"And suppose Frank does not show up--suppose he doesn't come at all but waits for the detectives' report and----"

"And begins action for divorce without even saying a word about it!" It was Madame who interjected this possibility. "Wouldn't that be just like him! Wouldn't that be Frank just down to the ground? Edith knows how cold-blooded he is, don't you, Edith? O, it's too awful! I never could live through such a thing! I wouldn't live! I'd kill myself--I'd throw myself into the lake! I'd----"

"Don't you think you are wearing that threat a little threadbare?" I asked quietly, henceforth addressing myself to the sister.

"In the event that your brother-in-law does not come or that we hear nothing from him, there is only one thing left: you must take your sister back to Chicago ... and I'll go with you...."

I believe my voice petered out before I completed the sentence. The idea was repugnant, but was it not all revolting in the extreme? I had given my promise to Will to "see it through" and I intended to do so to the best of my ability. Mrs. F.'s sister broke my train of thought. She stood before me with averted eyes struggling to keep back the tears, and twisting her hands nervously.

"Mrs. Hartley ... I don't want to appear maudlin ... but I think ... you understand how I feel.... It seems almost inane to say ... how much we ... appreciate what you are doing.... For my sister's sake I thank you ... I...."

"I'm not doing it for your sister's sake"--I tried to speak gently but everything in me seemed to have grown hard and unyielding--"nor for my husband's sake; neither for my own; I've got a boy--a son ... and there are two little girls...."

A volley of sobs smote our ears and shook the bed.

"My poor babies! The poor darlings!... I wish they had never been born!" ...

"It's too bad you didn't think of them before, Fannie," her sister answered caustically. It was the first expression of censure she had voiced. Mrs. F. bounced to a sitting position: yes, _bounced_ is the only adequate description. Grief had made a quick shift to anger. She glared at her sister.

"So you've turned against me, too, have you? I might have expected it: that's the gratitude you feel for all I've done for you. Where would you be if it were not for me?--you'd be pounding somebody's typewriter for five dollars a week! This is the thanks I get for sacrificing myself for the whole family! Every one of them will blame me for the whole business. What right have you to judge? How does anybody know what I've suffered for years living with that man?... literally starving for affection, ... he never took the trouble to understand my temperament ... he neglected me, he----"

"Hah-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-" ... It was my turn to indulge in hysteria, only mine was of the laughing variety: I laughed until the tears came--until I sank back from sheer exhaustion. From their expression Madame and her sister thought I had gone suddenly mad.

"What are you laughing at?" she snapped, glaring at me with suppressed rage.

"My dear," I responded feebly, "my dear, don't you realize what an awful old chestnut that neglected wife story is? Mr. Hartley says they all use it ... it is the cardinal excuse, the subterfuge all married women resort to, to justify their own infidelities."

"Did--did Mr. Hartley intimate----?"

"O, no! Mr. Hartley betrayed none of your confidences ... but, tell me honestly ..."--I leaned forward and clasped my knees to better accentuate my words--"do you really expect a man of the world to believe that--or care whether you are neglected or not? You know that men gossip and bandy women's names about their clubs--not in so many damning words, but with a knowing wink, a shrug of the shoulder, this head-shake, or, 'by pronouncing some doubtful phrase ... or such ambiguous giving out' ... my dear ... I have a rare collection of mash-notes which my actor-husband has from time to time tossed laughingly into my lap. Their character varies like the colour of the paper on which they are written. There is the white, the pale blue, and several shades of lavender.... The actor's world is full of lavender ladies of the Bovary type: the wonder of it is that so many of them 'get away with it' as you have so elegantly expressed it. Suppose _you_ don't get away with it ... suppose your husband divorces you ... what will become of you? How will you live? You're not equipped to make your own living. You couldn't even typewrite--like your sister. Suppose I were to divorce my husband, naming you as co-respondent: do you flatter yourself he would marry you? And let us assume that he did: How long do you think it would last? He is a poor man. His profession is a purely speculative one. His income is assured for only two weeks at a time, except in rare instances. He couldn't give you the jewels, the furs, the motors and the luxuries you now enjoy. How long do you believe your mad passion would endure, stripped of little appurtenances like wine suppers and suites of rooms in the best hotels?... Perhaps you'd become an actress like so many women who look on the stage as an open sesame to a life of immorality.... Like so many women with a screw loose in their moral machinery ... no, don't you say a word! This is my scene--and I am going to hold the centre of the stage for once in my career!... I know your kind, mi-lady.... You belong to that great class of over-fed and under-bred women who make life so hard for the rest of their sex. You're one of the wasters; you waste what does not rightfully belong to you; what you usurp in your greediness, in your pandering to your vanities, in your compromise with your better instincts, in your connivance with the very devil who finds some mischief still for idle hands to do! You stimulate your passions with alcohol and mistake the fumes for love! You haven't the courage to come out and be a genuine prostitute, but you ply the trade in the role of an adulteress. For God's sake, wake up! Look yourself in the eyes before it is too late! If you have no self-respect, no respect for your sex, try at least to respect the rights of those little souls you've brought into the world without their asking. O, yes, cry!... Crocodile tears and alcoholic drool!... It's a mistake to believe that all women have the maternal instinct ... so have female cats and dogs--and rabbits." ...

I had risen as my fury sought to master me. I stood beside the bed looking down at her ... making an ineffectual last-ditch fight for my self-control. Something about the woman ... the very quality of her night-dress--the heavily jewelled fingers--maddened me. The poison coursed through my veins like quick-silver ... once before in my life I had felt it ... before my boy was born ... _then_ I had succumbed to a desire to wreak physical vengeance ... the same madness seized me now ... I saw her shrink from me....

"O, you--_you_ ----!"

... I didn't say it; I caught myself in time. The blood stained my face with shame--shame with the very coarseness of the thought; shame with the whole revolting situation. Was I, too, become impregnated with the corroding influence of my environment? I turned and walked toward the door. As I reached for the knob, it opened and some one entered abruptly. I jumped aside to avoid being struck.

I knew who he was though I had never seen him before. The next moment I had reached for his hand and grasped it impulsively, at the same time laying a warning finger on my lips and indicating the bed.

"O, Mr. F., you don't know how glad I am to see you. We've been worried to death ... she's asleep now, after the most racking night ... do you mind not waking her for the present?... of course if you'd rather ..." I waited while he looked at the figure of his wife, lying helpless with her face to the wall, while his eyes roved to question those of the sister, then back to mine with the single word:

"Sick?... How long has she been sick?"

"Ever since we arrived here; it's the grippe, I think, though we couldn't induce her to see a doctor. She's been so upset at not hearing from you.... Do you mind stepping into the hall where we can talk more freely without danger of disturbing her?... Edith will call us if she awakens, won't you, Edith?" ...

* * * * *

Edith did not call. The hall was draughty; I managed a sneeze. Mr. F. suggested that we go down to the grill and have a drink. In the elevator I saw him glance furtively at me.... I was humming softly to myself. I watched his eyes in the mirror; they had a confused look not unmixed with suspicion. Not until after the second cocktail did he thaw a bit. He asked me whether I had dined. I told him I had not. After he had ordered, he leaned back in his chair and gave me a penetrating look. I met his eyes and smiled a little.

"You look tired," I said.

"I am--rather. These sleeper jumps take it out of a fellow."

"They surely do ... and I presume you've been worried to death about Fannie." The name slipped glibly from my lips. He shot me a quick glance which told me the familiar use of his wife's name had been effective. He shifted uneasily in his seat as he answered.

"Well, yes----"

"We have been fairly living on the long distance telephone trying to reach you. What on earth was the trouble? Edith received Fannie's telegram a minute after you called her up and when she tried to reach you--well, she couldn't, that's all...."

"There was something the matter with the connection ... it's been off for several days ..." he replied.

"Of course we could have telegraphed but we didn't want to alarm you," I went on, meeting his own brave lie with another. "As a matter of fact I think we all were more scared than hurt. Fannie had had a cold while we were still in Chicago--that's a trying climate in the winter. Then when we reached Cleveland, there wasn't much of an improvement in the matter of weather and I felt a bit guilty in having urged her to go with us." I toyed with, the celery and wiped off imaginary soot.

"Were you in Cleveland?"

I looked up at him in mild surprise.

"Why, of course. It was at my invitation that Fannie accompanied us. She was bored to death in Chicago ... it must be deadly monotonous--this same routine day after day ... the same faces and nothing new to talk about.... You know--you know if you were my husband I shouldn't let you run away on hunting trips and leave me behind.... I don't think you men realize how stupid it becomes with no change of menu--as it were...."

I reproved him with a smile. For the first time his eyes sent back a glint of warmth.

"How long have you known Fannie? It's odd that I've never--had the pleasure of meeting you before." (The pleasure was an after-thought.)

"O ... I've known Fannie for ... let me see ... nearly three years...." (I made a mental note of this for "Fannie's" benefit.) "We met when Will played Chicago two seasons since. We took quite a fancy to each other, and last winter when she came to New York we went about together and became quite good friends.... I presume you were away on one of your hunting trips last winter ... naughty sir ... that's the reason I didn't meet you.... This trip I brought Boy to Chicago.... You haven't seen my young son, have you? You must make his acquaintance to-morrow. We're most awfully vain about him ... think he's the only boy in the world. I suppose you feel that way about your little girls ... they _are_ beauties. They've got your eyes, though they have inherited Fannie's regular features...."

Would my tongue never stop wagging? What manner of woman had I suddenly become? I did not recognize myself. Was it a case of self-hypnosis and was I really feeling the interest and friendliness I pretended? He was not precisely an Adonis; there was something rough, almost uncouth, about him in spite of the veneer his money had brought. But there was a kindliness, a wholesouledness that made itself felt. Under any other conditions I should have liked him.... I saw him look at his watch.

"What time is it?... The performance will soon be over and Mr. Hartley will wonder where I am.... Wouldn't he be surprised to walk in here and see me dining with a strange man?... I hope you're not afraid of getting yourself talked about...."

"No, I guess not," he laughed back. I was silent for a time, while I wrestled with the breast of a squab. I felt his eyes upon me. When I looked at him I saw that he was revolving something in his mind, and I sensed the subject. I gave him time to think it over. After a while I leaned back in my chair.

"I'm sorry to confess it, but I'm beginning to feel a bit tired," I sighed. "Even your genial presence will not keep my eyes open much longer.... Edith I'm sure is feeling the strain, too. Well, we'll all sleep better to-night--after our worry. 'All's well that ends well'--and that reminds me--my husband and I were admiring a set of Shakespeare you have in your library."

"Um--yes; I remember it. I bought it for the binding. Don't believe I ever saw the inside of it...." He freshened my glass of wine.

"You're not much of a drinker, are you?"

"Haven't got brains enough to stand it," I answered flippantly.

He laughed; it had a true ring to it.

The game was in my hands.

"I guess you mean you've got brains enough to _with_stand it."

Would the dinner never come to an end? I thought. My body seemed to grow old with the minutes. At last the waiter cleared the table. When he had gone for a liqueur, Mr. F. took some letters from his pocket. From the packet he selected a piece of printed matter. He laid it face down upon the table while he replaced the letters. Then he looked at me, drumming with his fingers over the spot where the clipping lay. The waiter returned. Mr. F. drained the cognac glass and called for another. While it was being brought he folded his arms upon the table and leaned toward me.

"I wonder whether I'd better show you something...."

I assumed the same attitude; it was conducive to confidence.

"Show me what?"

His drumming became louder.

"No, I guess I won't!" ...

"Now, I call that unkind--to pique my curiosity and leave me suspended in mid-air."

He folded the clipping and rattled it between his fingers.

"Is that what you were going to show me? Wait a moment." ... I leaned toward him to better examine the paper, then relaxed against the back of the chair and smiled.

"I think I know what it is.... Will you lay me a wager? What will you wager that I can guess what that paper is the very first time?"

He sprawled and tilted back his chair good-naturedly.

"O, I'll bet you a box of candy or a bunch of violets."

"A five-pound box of candy--I don't like violets. Agreed?"

He nodded.

"It's a clipping from the Club Window...."

"Then you've seen it?"

"Of course I've seen it, silly man--hasn't everybody seen it? And wasn't my Willy furiously angry? He wanted to take the first train back to Chicago and clear out the whole establishment. It was all Fannie and I could do to calm him.... He said he was going to see you about it because he thought you and he should get together and take some kind of action against the slanderous sheet. I tell him he's foolish to pay any attention to it; just let it die of inanition. Don't you think so?"

"Well, I was a little upset myself when I read it. I didn't know what the devil to think...."

"Well, I know you've got too much sense to believe anything wrong about your wife.... I can appreciate how you and Will feel about it and that you'd like to make them retract--but--isn't it best to ignore it?--so long as _we_ know it's a malicious lie.... It's a shocking thing the way the press in this country construes license for freedom.... The libel laws are wholly inadequate. They manage that sort of thing much better in England.... There are so many evil-minded people in the world--don't you find it so?"

"Well, I confess, there's always somebody hanging around anxious to disseminate gossip, though I've never observed any of them helping along the nice things you hear."

"Now that we are on the subject, I'll tell you how this happened; the woman who concocted that libellous attack is an ugly perverted creature--she must be perverted or she would not be earning her livelihood in such a questionable way, don't you think so? Several years ago when she met my husband she volunteered to write some nice little personalia about him. He wasn't as well known then as now and every little bit helps, you know.... Well, Will kept up a desultory acquaintance with the woman and saw her from time to time. She was in New York when Fannie was there last winter, by the way. I don't know just how it came about, but the spinster scribbler developed a jealous streak and upbraided Will for being ungrateful for all she had done for him. I'm sure she could not have done a great deal for anyone in a wretched paper like the Club Window. To tell you the truth she was infatuated with Will. To use his own words--she made a play for him and he threw her down hard! Mr. Hartley is not given to that sort of thing--and if he were--you may be sure I should have something to say about it." I nodded sententiously.

"Yes, I guess you'd make it pretty warm for any poacher on your preserves!" We both laughed. I believe I even jerked my head pertly to mark my cocksureness. And, as I turned away, my eyes settled upon Will. He was standing in the doorway, evidently having just entered, since he still wore his overcoat and carried his hat in his hand. I half-rose. My host followed my move.

"It's Will--it's Mr. Hartley ... come in, Will...." I beckoned to him and stole a glance at Mr. F. No, there was no hesitation on his part. He rose and crossed to meet Will with outstretched hand. My hand shook so that I could hardly raise the wine glass to my lips. I drained the last drop and sank into my chair. The game was won....

* * * * *

It was nearly an hour later when I rose to leave the table. Will had eaten the supper which Mr. F. had insisted upon ordering and they were still calling for wine. I had steered the conversation clear of the perilous rocks and felt that I could now safely leave the two men together. They rose with me.

"I'm sorry to leave such delightful company--I believe I said something like that an hour ago, did I not, Mr. F.?... I want to drop in on Edith and make my peace with her. I fear she'll feel neglected. If you require my services during the night please don't hesitate to ring me up, though I feel sure Fannie will be ever so much better now that you've arrived. I presume you two gentlemen want to talk things over--that wretched slander, I mean--only--" and at this point I assumed a mock-serious attitude--"don't do anything until you hear from me, will you?... Now, please don't move.... I'll find my way.... Good-night, sir ... and don't forget that you owe me five pounds of the best candy in Cincinnati."

When I reached Mrs. F.'s room, her sister had already opened the door. She had heard the elevator stop and was waiting. The girl's face was drawn and the circles under the eyes had deepened. Mrs. F., too, showed the strain of waiting.

"Mr. F. and my husband are downstairs; they were exchanging funny stories when I left ... there will be no pistols--nor a divorce on this count ... now, if you have another spell of hysterics I think I shall kill you.... Edith ... we had better begin calling each other 'dearie' and that sort of thing to accustom ourselves, for we've known each other three years ... please repeat it after me so that you won't forget it.... Edith, should you mind pouring me a dose of Fannie's valerian?... I think I took a wee drop too much ... my teeth are fairly chattering ... now let me think.... I'll begin at the moment we left the room together ... please don't interrupt unless there is something you do not grasp ... he may come at any moment...."

* * * * *

I went to the telephone directly I entered my room and called for the room clerk. I told him I wanted another room on the same floor. While I waited for the bell-boy to bring the key I wrote a note and pinned it on the mirror where it would attract Will's attention. "I have gone to another room. Don't disturb me, please. We'll talk it over to-morrow."

When I had turned the key in the lock and had surveyed my own domain I felt strangely light in the head. I opened a window and mechanically arranged my toilet articles. Then I disrobed, unpinned my hair and cleansed my face with cold cream. At least, I _assume_ that I did all these, for the next day, when I awoke to consciousness, everything was in place, my hair was braided in two pig-tails, and my face still showed traces of cold cream. From the moment I had locked myself in I had no recollection of what followed. The doctor called it "syncope."