Part 4

“Now, Peter, you sit down there at the end, and I shall sit here. Let’s pretend it is morning and you are having your breakfast and you are in a dreadful hurry.”

Peter sat down as he was told and waited for her to finish her preparations.

Clarinda was trying to drag herself back, but for some reason she could not. A new light had broken. Probably this was the rebirth her father had told her of.

As they sat opposite each other and she was making the coffee, the door to the room opened and her father came in smiling, seemingly happy over the new nest Peter had provided for his daughter.

Clarinda went over and kissed him. She helped him take off his coat and placed his cane in the corner, then she made a place for him at the table.

After he had sat down a desultory conversation began. They talked about the house and its arrangements, concerning the extent of the garden, the placing of the lake which Peter contemplated, the number of servants, and the effect the house made from the outside. Clarinda listened while she busied herself making the coffee, and the maid brought in the toast.

The men continued to speak of various stocks, the rise and fall in foreign exchange, the effect of the rise in the prices of steel, but Clarinda took no interest in these things.

Without warning she broke in upon their conversation.

“I—I—don’t believe in this place. It seems to me to be too large. I feel as if my happiness had gone out of the window.”

The men looked at her as if not hearing what she said. They waited for her to pass the coffee, and it was evident her father was pleased.

“I wish I were back,” she broke in again.

“Oh, Clarinda!” exclaimed Peter. “That’s the first mean remark I ever heard you make.”

“I mean it!” she replied slowly.

“After all this struggle?” said her father.

“I’ve been thinking,” answered Clarinda.

“What! Women should not think, for it is bad for them,” her father put in smilingly.

“I’ve been thinking of many things lately,” she replied.

“Name one of these things, Clarinda,” Peter said banteringly.

“Everything is all wrong,” said Clarinda, as she left the table. She walked about with a nervous step. “Do you remember, Father, when I was married, you said that I was not dying, but that it was a rebirth?”

“Yes, I remember, Clarinda,” answered her father. “What is the trouble? You know my method, I always believe that there is nothing so good as an out-and-out discussion, if anyone feels in a wrong situation. It clarifies things and leaves no room for misunderstanding,” he said looking into Clarinda’s eyes. “People who are married drift into situations just on this account, because they refuse to speak of them. Now, tell us what it is you are thinking.”

“You are talking at random, trying to conjure up something that doesn’t exist. I know of no difficulty. Everything seems to me to be as calm as a summer’s day,” broke in Peter.

“There is a rift,” answered her father. “Let’s find it.”

“You are a pessimist. Where can there be a rift when two people are satisfied and understand each other perfectly?”

“How do you know these people are satisfied?” asked Clarinda. “Because one of them is wrapped in his own complacency, it does not follow that the other person is in the same frame of mind.” Clarinda had a queer look in her eyes.

“There you are,” her father said quickly. He placed upon the table the cup he had in his hand. “Let Clarinda say what she means.”

“I will,” she replied firmly. “You both shall be arraigned. I’ve decided to drag you both before yourselves and will appeal to you both—place you both in the light I think you ought to occupy.”

“Listen—listen—another Portia!” Peter carried deep mockery in his voice.

“Be quiet, Peter,” commanded her father.

Clarinda flushed and looked kindly at the old man.

“I have thought—” she began.

“The lady thinks,” laughed Peter.

“Yes, as queer as it may seem—the lady thinks,” Clarinda put in. Peter noticed the look upon her face and it did not please him.

“Hush, Peter,” said her father, laying his hand upon Peter’s arm.

“As queer as it may seem to you,” went on Clarinda. “The lady thinks, but she has thought for sometime past. The lady has come to know you two. She knows also that both of you think no woman should think. Nevertheless, they do think but at all times their thoughts are not pleasant.”

“What have you thought?” her father asked as if to encourage her.

“I’ve thought of my life and how extremely foolish it is. I’ve made a review of it, just while I was looking into the fire, and while I looked, it spread itself out before me, and made me ashamed. It is curious how rapidly one can think, and how a life that has covered years is gone over in a moment. I don’t like this big house. It comes to me just what my position will be.”

“The house is yours. You have the deed for it. I gave it to you,” said Peter.

“That’s true. I’ve a piece of paper that recites that fact, but it is of no value to me. The thing I want has gone out of the window.”

“I don’t follow you, Clarinda,” broke in her father.

“You will understand, Father.”

“Will I understand?” asked Peter.

“I don’t know,” she replied.

“Why won’t we understand?” asked Peter.

“I don’t know.”

“Go on, Clarinda,” said her father.

“I’ve something to say. It will no doubt fill you both with astonishment. It has been on my mind for a long time. The other things have come to me only tonight. Listen, and get it carefully in your minds. Don’t think I am indelicate or that I regret. I know it is the allotted thing for women. It is the natural condition. As you have both said so often, the one and only reason for women being in the world. I am going to be a mother.”

“Clarinda!” exclaimed Peter. A curious wave went over him.

“I am not pleased,” said her father, slowly as if turning the thing over in his mind. “It is dangerous.”

“Irrespective of your ideas, it is true. I’ve said nothing about it before for many reasons,” she went on. “You must not think for a moment that I am afraid. Nature doesn’t allow me to be afraid. Many times since this thing has come upon me I have analyzed my sensations. I find my heart is filled with a curious kind of joy. I find my whole nature has undergone a change and that my outlook has expanded. It seems to me as if I’ve gone through a revolution. But there is something else, something that is closer to my heart than even that. It is supposed to be the closest thing that can come to a woman.”

“For the Lord’s sake! What else?” asked Peter with astonishment.

“There is much else. I have discovered that I am all wrong,” Clarinda went on quietly and slowly and her voice carried a peculiar tone of sadness. “My life is all wrong. My perspective is all wrong. I discover I’ve been submerged by you two. Still, I don’t believe it is exactly all your fault. A great deal of it arises from my own point of view. But, now, I’ve come to a point. I have revolted. This revolt may arise from my condition. This condition may create this revolt. It seems to me as if it were a physical awakening. I don’t know where to place the blame. It may be your fault, Peter. But it is more the fault of my mother and father. They laid down the lines, and Peter simply follows out these limits as they had placed them.”

Her father did not reply. To him it was wonderful to hear her speak. It interested him vitally, for as far as he was concerned it placed Clarinda in a new light. He had never thought it was in her to have an idea except such as was conveyed to her by either Peter or himself. It was a new concept. He could not judge if she were making a mistake or not. He waited for her to say more.

“All my life,” she began again, “I’ve been trained by people who tried to avoid for me any phase of life that might be difficult. As I see it, my existence has been made a bed of roses. Temptation has been kept from me. Existence as it is has been pushed aside. Luxury has been spread at my feet. Everything has been done to lead me to believe that in the world there was nothing but ease and comfort. I was allowed to look only upon the bright side. The lights were always lit, and yet I lived in a haze. Somehow I felt during all the years I lived that it was wrong. But I did not try to reason the thing out. I could not. What is the result? I am the result.” Clarinda stopped and then with a new tone in her voice went on:

“The result is that you’ve created a woman without force, a puny thing that can be argued into any position. Think of it! By two men who are as narrow in their point of view of women as the creases in their shirt fronts, by two men who have looked upon me as a toy, or a piece of Dresden china. Something that should give them pleasure, a puppet, walking about on two legs. Now, listen, I don’t blame either of you as I should. I blame much more the environment in which I was born. Here is the remarkable thing about it. Since this new condition has come upon me, as I told you—I have undergone a change. It is psychological as well as physical. It startles me and I feel as if something had been torn from me. I have revolted. Out of this revolution is created a new personality and the birth of this personality is causing me as much pain as I shall suffer with the birth of my child.”

“But, Clarinda,” interposed her father, “your premises are wrong. Your argument is poor. Why should you not have been protected and advised by older minds? Why should you not have the easiest way? I could afford it. I certainly thought it for the best. My love for you did this thing. Peter has lived with but one thought in his mind, which is you.”

“I, too, object to your statements, just as your father does, for I feel it a pleasure to give you all that you want. There is nothing else in life for me but that. I can’t see why you would deny me this one thing,” Peter broke in as her father finished speaking.

“You are both wrong,” Clarinda said quickly. “Look at the result of your misapplied consideration. What is the result? As I said, a puppet, a thing without color, or a mere toy. It is terrible to think of. It is so unjust, so unfair. If anybody knew me as I am they would laugh or weep. I don’t know which. But thank heavens that is done before it is too late and I am about to enter upon a second stage, a new development. I have shed this thing as a cloak, I have awakened to a change that has come—a vital change, so big that you in your little minds, I doubt if you can appreciate what it is. In the place of the toy and the puppet here stands a woman. I hope a force, an intellectual entity.”

“And—,” began Peter. But before he could formulate a sentence, Clarinda had raised her hand.

“Stop! As I told you, I am about to become a mother. It is curious how this condition has affected me. I should like to tell you, to describe the mental adjustment that has taken place, but I doubt whether I can.”

“Go on!” commanded her father. “What has happened? What has taken place? What do you feel?”

“I don’t know if I can,” Clarinda replied. “It is too great a revolution. You might not believe what I have thought. You might think my words were just words. You might think I was versed in psychosis. I will try, however. You ask me what has happened? A wonderful thing has happened. As I look at it. This is what has happened. Hitherto, I have lived as if behind an impenetrable veil. Of a sudden this thing has been torn apart and a dazzling light, almost more than I can face, has broken in upon me, and is leaving me dazed. The new situation is almost impossible for me to face, and this is what has happened. Then you ask me what has taken place? This—I am another person. In me has been raised a peculiar animal instinct. I have reverted to the field. There is no feeling of fear. It is more—one of preservation, not so much of myself, but rather of the life that is quickening in me. This is what has taken place. I want to fight, I don’t know what I want to fight. Then—you ask me, what do I feel? I feel joy. I have lost my lethargy. I am excited. Every movement in me is one of distinct anticipation. And I don’t know what I anticipate.”

“Good Lord!” exclaimed Peter.

“I am done,” she said finally. “There is only one request I have to make, and there is only one thing that I want. I am willing to go through this period. That is, I want to go back to the flat. For once I should be allowed to do as I please. Honestly, Peter,” and her voice was full of pleading. “I don’t like this place. It is too big. It is too much. I can ever occupy in it but a secondary position. I dislike the housekeeper, the chef, the maids, and the spaces. I’ve only a short time to pass through, and for that short time I want things as I wish to have them.”

“Yes, I would go back, Peter,” put in her father.

“No, for it is only a whim, probably aroused by her condition. I understand women often take these turns when they are as she is. It is foolish,” Peter answered with anger.

“We are going back,” replied Clarinda, with a fixity of purpose. “Why not? I may die. I may be ill for a long time. Why should I not have what I want? But remember I am not afraid of this thing.”

“When do you want to go back?” asked Peter.

“Now,” she answered shortly.

“It can’t be done.”

“I think Clarinda is reasonable,” her father said.

“But what of all these people?” asked Peter.

“They are certainly no more important than I am. Are they?” Clarinda asked.

Peter arose from the divan and shrugging his shoulders stepped over to the wall and touched a button. Presently the woman with the big jaw and the impenetrable face came in. Peter turned to her as she entered.

“Mrs. Caws, Mrs. Thorbald doesn’t like this place,” said Peter stupefied with anger. Clarinda stopped him.

“I shall tell Mrs. Caws, Peter,” she said quickly. “Please, Mrs. Caws, will you be kind enough to dismiss the servants. Mr. Thorbald and I have decided to go away for sometime. You will see to the closing of the house. That is all, Mrs. Caws.”

Mrs. Caws went out.

“It is done, Peter.”

“Do you think that settles it, Clarinda?”

“Yes, that settles it, Peter,” and Clarinda smiled wearily as she rose and left the room.

STAGE TWO

I

A great deal of water had run under the bridge since Clarinda had left the big house and gone back to the flat. A great deal more water had run under the bridge before Clarinda had consented to come back to the big house and had settled permanently in its rooms and halls.

Her child had been born, it had thrived and grown, her father had aged. Rarely he came to the house unless he was assisted by his man, and then only when the sun was bright and the sky unclouded. Peter had grown more successful and had acquired the Midian touch. Gold came to him as penury comes to most. His arrogance and bombast had grown greater. Her mother remained in the background. Removed from all contact with Clarinda and her life, she came to the house very seldom and then only to complain. She appeared to think her duty toward Clarinda finished and reasoned as she had given Clarinda birth, raised her to womanhood and married her off, she had done for her all that a mother could do.

Having finished her duty, she gave herself up to a life of pleasure, and she caromed from one gaiety to another like the balls upon a billiard table, propelled by a professional.

The going from the flat to the house had been considered by Clarinda for many, many months before she reached a decision. She thought it out carefully. She argued the thing from all sides, and came to the conclusion that probably she might be in error, as many women err who are in love. Without consideration of her own happiness she gave in before the arguments of her father and of Peter.

Peter won the first great point in their lives. On the day they came back Mrs. Caws again stood in front of them with a curious smile upon her hard old features; he gloated upon his victory, and gave orders with unction. It pleased him immensely, and it swelled him with his own importance. He felt it was by his own strength of will that he compelled Clarinda to accept the exact position he deemed proper a woman should occupy in relation to her husband. His joy on the whole was complete, for woman to him was a woman properly placed.

Clarinda looked at him narrowly. Her mind was in a state of chaos. She felt in her soul that she had lost something she could never recover. Yes, she knew his outlook, and although she knew it she hated it fiercely.

If it had not been that by persistent effort through a term of years, Clarinda had taught herself to control her tears, she would have wept. But she had learned in these years how to control her tears. Tears had no effect upon Peter, for when she wept, Peter only scorned her. So she found that she aroused no pity in his heart.

Steadily Clarinda had fought the move from the old to the new, but Peter had fought even as consistently. His strength resulted in her defeat and so it came about. After they had entered the house Peter helped her off with her wraps. At a signal to Mrs. Caws, who had been standing close by, she left the hall. As she closed the door behind her, Clarinda turned to Peter and said slowly as if repeating a line she had heard,

“My happiness has gone out of the window.”

Peter tossed his head. A wicked smile crossed his lips. He spoke with bitter sarcasm.

“I can’t understand your attitude, Clarinda. It seems to me if anyone had given me such a place as this, I would rather have said my happiness had come in by the window.”

Clarinda paid no attention to his reply. She continued to speak in the same painful voice:

“You’ve won, Peter,” and her lips trembled as she stopped for an instant. “It is the little things in life that count. It is the tiny pebble that changes the course of the stream. Yes, Peter, you’ve won—and at what a price.”

“It represents thousands and thousands, Clarinda,” he replied, without getting her point of view.

“Money—money—money! That is your fetish. You are carried away with gold! It will bury eventually all that is good in you.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he replied. “Money may be rotten and all that; but from my observation it is a most comfortable sort of possession.”

“Where is your soul?”

“Rot!” he exclaimed. “Why be trite? Souls in this world? A curious superstition handed down from no one knows where. A relic of fear. A thing to dangle before the eyes of the sick to help them die with a smile. A sop to the sick. A thing to dangle before the ignorant. Of what avail are they? Sometimes, I wonder whether you will ever graduate into the sort of woman I want. Must you always have a child’s point of view?”

“What sort of woman do you want, Peter?” she asked looking at him closely. “Since you’ve won this point, if you will tell me I will be that sort.”

Peter walked away from her a few steps then after a short while he turned and replied.

“I’ve thought a lot about the sort of woman I want. It is difficult to come to an exact conclusion. When I am idle I picture to myself the sort I think I should have. It is a very hard proposition.”

“Express it, Peter! You’ve never had difficulty on that score.”

“Sometime I will. I can’t do it now for it would take too long. I am very busy. I’ll tell you some other time.”

“I want you to do it now. Explain!” Clarinda broke forth. “I don’t believe you ever can explain! I see!—I know!—I may be stupid and only a child—but I know! Another illusion has been torn from me, and the bare bone is left.”

Clarinda turned to go out of the door that led to the upper reaches of the house. Peter went after her quickly. He took her hand in his and led her unwillingly toward the sofa that stood to one side.

“Sit down here,” he commanded, “for just a moment. I am going to try to tell you what I mean.” Clarinda sat down and bent her head forward looking intently at the floor in front of her. A deep serious gaze was in her eyes. “I am going to tell you what I mean,” he continued repeating himself. “It is true, Clarinda, that I’ve not much time, but we might as well thrash the thing out. I am going to put before you the position I occupy. You’ve always been square and able to see how just I am. Now listen.”

In the more than three years they had been married, Clarinda had lost none of her sweetness of look. Peter was forced to concede that much. Since the baby had come, it appeared to him that an added lustre had been given to her. She had developed wonderfully. Her figure and the lines of her young face had been metamorphosed. The baby represented to him another incident in life—a component part of the progress.

He sat down beside her and looked at her bent body. But he would not let himself be swayed, for he felt this would not be just to himself. The time had come when Clarinda must be brought to face the exalted position he had constructed for her and for himself.

They sat close together and Peter chose his words with infinite care. With as much certainty and deliberation as if he were placing a matter of great moment before one of the numerous boards of directors to which he belonged.

“This,” he began slowly, “is my position and I think you ought to realize it perfectly. I am, what is normally termed, a successful man, having arrived at this position by my own efforts. It is vital to me that you fill this position with me. You know, if you have ever considered the matter, that a wife assumes more or less the position of either an employee or a partner in a marriage contract. A thing like this is not all of one side. Butterflies are all well enough in a garden, but only in a garden. In the grand scheme they amount to nothing. If either of the contracting parties does not arise to his or her part, the one not arising assumes a minor position in the operation. In other words, she or he loses his standing as a partner. He or she stands apart in the fight. You will concede that life is a fight, a survival of the fittest. This you must acknowledge is correct. It stands without discussion. It is a syllogism.”

Clarinda listened to his words and her mind followed each sentence as he spoke. In her arose a wrath complete. He destroyed every foundation upon which she had hoped to build her existence. However, she said nothing.

Peter continued: “I admit I love you. It would distress me beyond words if I thought for an instant that love didn’t exist in me and if the same thing didn’t animate your spirit. You must understand that my love isn’t an effervescing thing, but a solid unfrothed condition. Stable and certain. Pushed aside, it is true, by necessities, but existent. Now, with that love, as I say a certainty, it is required of you to fulfill your part of the contract to expand, to develop, to spread, even as I have spread.”

“Do you think you love?” asked Clarinda. “Have you ever thought in your dissection of this matter of how I have suffered for you? I suffered terribly when the baby came. I suffered for months with a painful illness. But that is of no importance. The baby is only part of me, a thing—how should I say?”