CHAPTER XXIII

PLAIN LANGUAGE

Once at home, where Beth and the Colonel were still absent, Judith went to the book-case in the little parlour and drew out the volume of Rossetti's poems. "Jenny," she found in the index, and turning to the page, she read:

"Lazy laughing languid Jenny, Fond of a kiss and fond of a guinea----"

No, not that kind of a Jenny was that whom she had seen. Rather this:

"When, wealth and health slipped past, you stare Along the streets alone, and there, Round the long park, across the bridge, The cold lamps at the pavement's edge Wind on together and apart, A fiery serpent for your heart."

And then the moral, the world-moral, this:

"Like a toad within a stone Seated while Time crumbles on; Which sits there since the world was curs'd By man's transgression at the first; Which always--whitherso the stone Be flung--sits there, deaf, blind, alone;-- Aye, and shall not be driven out Till that which shuts him round about Break at the very Master's stroke, And the dust thereof vanish as smoke, And the seed of Man vanish as dust:-- Even so within this world is Lust."

Judith sat with the book open in her lap, meditating. She knew enough of that lower life to have for it a man's pity rather than a woman's scorn; recalling Mather's action, she liked him better for it. And she began to think of him regretfully, as one who just missed the highest capacities and so failed to meet the supreme tests. "A fine fellow!" she murmured, so absorbed that she did not hear the door-bell ring, nor notice footsteps until Mather himself entered the room with hurried step. He wore his overcoat; on his brow was still the frown of care.

"Ah," he said, "I am glad to find you. Is Jim Wayne here, Judith?"

She rose and laid the book aside, carefully, so that he should not see what she had been reading. "No," she answered. "It is his night to come. But I saw him down town, George, and he looked worried. Is anything wrong?"

"It has been a bad day in stocks," he answered. "I must find Jim. Excuse my troubling you, Judith." And he moved toward the door.

"Wait, George." She took from the table the note which earlier she had written him. "I have an invitation for you."

He took it, opened it, and began to read. "Ah!" he said at first, as if with pleasure. But as she watched she saw a quick and startling change in his countenance; his forehead contracted with pain, and he closed his lips firmly. But he read on to the end, and then looked at her quietly.

"I cannot come," he said.

With a conscious summoning of her courage she asked, "You have an engagement?"

"No," he replied. "But I cannot march in Ellis's triumph."

"You are entirely mistaken," she said haughtily.

"If not yet, then soon," he returned. She made no answer, yet she flushed with indignation; he bowed and turned to the door. Then he came back. "Judith, will you allow me to speak with you frankly? A few words may make a difference to us forever."

It was not the words which impressed her, it was the emotion which drove them from his breast, which burned in his eyes. She was so astonished that she made no answer; he said, to emphasise his request, "It may be seldom that we speak again."

"Seldom speak again?" she repeated.

He took her words for a consent. "Judith," he asked, "what is this man Ellis to you? Do you realise that he is using you?"

Her indignation rose. "Using me!"

"To get among us," he explained. "He has no gratitude, no remorse. Once he has used a man he throws him aside like an old glove; he has never shown personal feeling for any one. Why do you have to do with him?"

"You envy his ability," she said.

"Not I," he answered. "I admire his firmness, his persistence, his capacity. But I cannot admire him. Judith, he is a bane, a poison in our system, a disease!"

"You mistake him," she cried.

"Not I. I know him, and am going to fight him."

"Fight him, then!" she returned.

He spoke more quietly. "We have been careless with him; he has brought corruption into the city. But small cities are not so conscienceless as big ones; the better elements are rising against him. This day I was formally asked to lead them, and I shall probably be against his man in the mayoralty contest next fall. It is a battle of principles: that is why I can never take salt with him."

She was quite unmoved, using her previous defense. "It will be a struggle of the new against the old."

"Ah, Judith," he replied almost sadly, "is he blinding you thus? And do you see my meaning clearly? All the better elements will oppose him. Whoever is with him will be against us."

"Who are you," she cried, "to pronounce on good and evil? Take care against self-righteousness, George."

"I will take care," he answered. "But there is another side to this, Judith. Put this larger issue by and turn to the smaller, the personal one between you and me. Judith, I have loved you. I thought you were womanly at bottom. But have you no heart, after all?" His intensity was growing.

"That still troubles you?" she inquired.

"Are you absolutely cold?" he asked. "Are your old friends nothing to you? What if they turn from you?"

"So," she said, "you threaten me with that?"

"It is inevitable," he said with energy. "Even as my love--no boy's love, Judith--wavers and grows sick, so will their friendship. Have we all mistaken you? Will you give such approval to such a man?"

Anger at last grew strong within her. "George!" she said in warning.

But he, casting before her his burning reproaches, would not be repressed. "I say the only thing which can bring you to yourself. Do my words sting? They tear me as I utter them!" His face was changing as he spoke, paling as if the effort weakened him, yet still he dragged out the words. "Judith, I could see you married to an honourable man, and still love and bless you. I will idealise you until you besmirch yourself--but you are no child, to do that unknowingly. On the day you give yourself to Ellis----"

"Stop!" she interrupted.

"No!" he cried. "It is in your mind; you cannot deny it. On the day, Judith, that you give yourself to him, you sell yourself!"

He stood voiceless and panting, gazing at her with accusing eyes. And for an instant she reeled, a voice within her cried "Jenny!" and she saw that woman of the streets. Then fierce indignation flooded her veins; she started to the table, seized the Japanese knife, and held it naked in her hand. With ease she balanced and pointed the heavy weapon.

"Do you suppose," he asked, "that you can hurt me deeper?"

For a moment they stood confronting, his courage as strong as her anger. Then she threw the dagger clattering upon the table, and pointed to the door. "Go!"

He gave her one searching look, bowed, and went quickly from the house.

The Colonel, entering some fifteen minutes later, found Judith in the arm-chair where she had flung herself after pacing the room. "Judith," he said, "I met Mr. Ellis just now, and he said he was coming up to dinner."

"Very well," she answered inattentively.

He saw that her brow was clouded, and his desire to speak with her seriously began to melt. When he was alone it seemed to him simple enough to say a few fatherly words in favour of Ellis; the Colonel wished very much to have his mind relieved about the future. But now was not the time, not while that frown was on her face. So he went up-stairs.

Then his statement found its way into Judith's mind, and she sprang to her feet. Ellis was coming--then _it_ was coming! She hurried up-stairs and dressed herself with care; when she was ready she was a picture. But it was not her gown and scanty jewels that made her radiant, but the glow within her, which was the smouldering indignation she still felt against Mather. Thus to threaten, thus to dare her, thus to set himself up as judge! She waited impatiently for Ellis to come.