CHAPTER VI.

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.