"Yes--yes ... I knew, of course." His tone was curt, but I understood his reluctance to dwell upon the subject. The return of the waiter ended a painful silence. After that Mr. F. kept up a running fire of gossip and questions about stage life. But beneath the surface I sensed and lent him tacit aid in his effort to steer clear of the topic I knew to be uppermost in his mind. From time to time rumours of a fresh rupture with his wife had reached me. In fact, it was Will who had acquainted me with the news of their final estrangement. He confided the details of the lady's latest excursion into the realm of the illicit, with the sententious air of, "There! Didn't I predict what would happen?" and a shrug of the shoulders. I am not sure that it was not Will's intent to sympathize with himself as a victim of circumstances over which he had no control. Indeed, the occasional bursts of confidences which he thrust upon me, and in which he discussed quite frankly the indiscretions of certain lion-hunting ladies, were made, I felt, with the hope of impressing upon me the pitfalls with which a man in his profession is surrounded. Or was it vanity, or a desire to fan the old flame of passion he once had aroused--a passion, which, if the paraphrase is pardonable, was now "tame and waited on judgment?"
In some way--I am not certain how it came about, since "made"
conversation is at best disjointed and lacks in sequence--a random remark inspired a challenge from Mr. F., who offered to lay a bet that I was in the wrong. "O, no," I had replied, "I don't want you to lose; besides, you do not pay your gambling debts promptly. Do you know you never sent me that box of candy I won from you in Cincinnati? Mr. F....
you're not a good sport!" With a shock I realized I was in shallow waters.... He looked at me with his eyes narrowed to mere slits....
"Well, little woman, I can't say that of you, can I?... I can't say that you're not a good sport--after that performance in Cincinnati." ...
I flushed but made a heroic effort to control my voice. "I don't think I follow you." Mr. F. beat up the bubbles in his glass and watched them come to the surface before he answered.
"Of course you've heard about her latest affair with that Italian opera singer.... Well, I caught her with the goods this time.... For the sake of the children I'm letting her get the divorce...." He left off frowning and contemplated me with an amused smile. "Say, little woman, you did put it all over me there in Cincinnati, didn't you?... I suppose you're wondering how I got wise to it? Well, I wrung the confession out of her; I wouldn't let her get the divorce until she told me the truth, and then I checked it up through her sister, who's a pretty good sort.... All my life I've had a deep-rooted respect for a game sport....
When I look at that pretty little face of yours and think of the job you cooked up at a moment's notice--well, I take off my hat to you, that's all!... Look here, little woman: if anything ever goes wrong between you and handsome Bill--and by Gad! I thought it had when I saw you on the stage to-night--if ever you need a friend, just tap the wires. There's my club address ... and, little lady--don't be afraid that I'll ask anything in return--do you follow me? I'm not any better than the rest of my kind, but I think I know the real thing when I meet it."
While donning my wraps in the cloak-room some time later, I was surprised to see my little friend Leila enter and present her coat-check to the maid. She flushed a little in surprise as she greeted me: "Why, Mrs. Hartley! I didn't know you were here! Where were you sitting? Why didn't you tell me you were coming?"
"I didn't know myself. I found an old acquaintance waiting, and of course he wanted to see 'where the soubrettes hang out.'"
"How funny! My coming was unexpected, too. I'll tell you all about it to-morrow." She hurried away, a little eagerly, I thought. As I passed out in response to a beckon from Mr. F. I saw Leila being helped into a handsome fur coat.
I told myself it was none of my business; that Leila knew perfectly well what she was doing and that any amount of advice from me would not only not be acted upon, but would be resented. Already she avoided me. To my pleadings that I was lonely--would she not dine with me at my home?--she responded with ever-ready but piffling excuses and subterfuges. I would see her emerge from her dressing-room after the performance, prettily dressed, get into a waiting taxicab and be whirled away. The situation preyed on my mind. Once I took courage in both hands and called at her lodging-house only to be told that Miss Moore had moved away a month since. I got the new address from the back-door keeper, and when my little friend was out of the cast through illness I seized the opportunity to call on her.
It was one of those smaller apartment hotels in the West Forties; I was taken up in the elevator without challenge. The coloured maid who cautiously opened the door said she did not know whether her mistress would see me. Something in my manner, however, caused her to stand aside and let me enter. The rooms were tastefully if cheaply furnished. Leila was lying on a couch, propped with pillows and clad in a dainty silk kimono. She was taken by surprise and flushed a little as she extended her hand. The maid placed a chair for me.
"I--I thought you had forgotten me," she stammered as I offered the flowers I had brought. "How good of you!"
"They're only seconds, Leila, but the best I could afford." And, compared to the big American Beauties reposing in a vase near at hand, they certainly did look shop-worn.
"It's a beastly day, isn't it? Let me send for a cup of tea or maybe you'd like a high-ball...."
I declined both. The maid disappeared. Leila squirmed about on her pillows....
"I'm sorry to see you ill, Leila," I ventured by way of breaking the ice.
"O, I'm not really ill ... only a slight cold. I'm a bit run down and the Judge--that is--the doctor thought I should rest for a while. I'm not going back to the theatre this season.... It's awfully good of you to bother about me...."
"Leila?" I said finally.... "Leila, is it worth it?"
"Is what worth----"....
"All this." I indicated the apartment, the piano, the silk negligee--and the ring on her finger.... "Is it worth the price you are paying?" I asked gently. She lifted her shoulders.
"I don't know!" Her tone was half question, half defiance.... "I _do_ know that the other way wasn't worth the sacrifices, the scrimping and mean pinching. I couldn't go on like that--I couldn't! I am young; I want some of the good things of life while I am still young ... and I was lonely. I didn't fit into my environment."
"I understand, Leila.... Perhaps I appreciate the loneliness, the rebellion, better than you think.... You see other girls enjoying the good things of life and apparently happy. But, after all, happiness is purely relative, and what makes for their happiness might not make for yours. Leila, dear girl, couldn't you make up your mind to stick it out just a little while longer?... Things were sure to come your way--or, perhaps, you would meet the right man and marry and settle down in the little home of your own which you told me you have always craved."
"The right kind of men don't marry chorus girls. The exceptions are rare. And what manner of men are they who _do_ marry a girl out of the chorus? Old worn-out roues, almost senile from the debauched lives they have led. They crave something young and fresh as an elixir of life.
Sometimes it's a young blood with money; a black sheep of the family who drinks and sports, and in the end there's divorce if nothing worse....
I couldn't marry a man like either of these.... It's a mistake to be too fastidious...."
"Is--is--he married?"
"He--O.... Yes, he's married--in a way. His wife and he have not really lived together for years. For the sake of the family they keep up appearances.... She doesn't understand him...."
"Did _he_ tell you that--and you _believe_ it?"
"But I know it's true! You'd believe it, too, if ever you were to see her. He married her when he was young and poor."
"I presume they loved each other then; she probably pinched and scrimped in those days to help him--to help him get where he is to-day."
"I don't know anything about that, of course. But I do know that I admire him; he has a wonderful mind. It's a privilege to be associated with a man like him. If you knew him, you would not think so badly of the--the arrangement."
I left my chair to sit beside her on the couch.
"Dear girl," I said, slipping my hand in hers, "Don't misunderstand me.
I'm not sitting in judgment, neither am I criticizing you. But I want you to think of the future. Have you ever thought of the time when you will be no longer young? Have you never observed that type of woman one finds hanging around restaurants or hotel corridors, hoping to pick up a man, any man, it doesn't matter what kind of a man so long as he has a little money? These women are getting along in years, taking on flesh, hiding the ravages of time and dissipation with rouge, hair-dyes and more dissipation. They are fighting life and getting the worst of it, having put into life only their worst: thrown from one man's arms into another's: down the line--always down grade, lower and lower until--until what remains? The streets, the work-house, or suicide....
Have you thought of that?"
"No! _No! No!_--and I don't want to think of it!" She pounded her fists vehemently together.... "I'm tired of thinking of the future! I've done nothing all my life but think and live in the future--and now I'm going to get what there is--all there is--out of the present, if it's only a pretty gown, only a bright flower! What incentive has a girl like me to be good? Go away! Go away, please, and don't bother about me!" ...
As I walked up Fifth Avenue on my way home, the shops and various dressmaking establishments were disgorging their workers: pale girls, for the most part, poorly clad. Here and there one prettier than the rest, showing in her dress the innate love of display; passing the well-dressed saunterer along the way with a pert glance, an inviting eye; dreaming of the silks she had handled all day; longing for the comforts of life which money alone can buy.... After all, is it a question of morals or economics which leads these girls astray? As my little friend had put it, "What incentive have they to go straight?"
CHAPTER XVIII
Will's season closed early. My own promised to run well into the summer months. Will's return was marked by a happier frame of mind and a corresponding good humour. He had been re-engaged for the coming year, and the fact that his maternal grandmother had recently died and left him a small legacy, which would be made over to him during the summer, relieved his mind of the worry over money matters which had been oppressing him. With characteristic prodigality he invested in a complete new wardrobe--to be paid for when the legacy arrived. Also he contemplated buying a motor-car, though I endeavoured to point out to him that a trip abroad would be a better investment, if spend his money he must.
It was well along in June when--with a silent _Te Deum_--I saw the notice posted. One of those periods of tropical heat had descended upon New York and brought the run of the opera to an abrupt close. It was a welcome relief to be allowed to remain at home for days at a time. I set about to refurnish my summer wardrobe. With the acquisition of an automobile still pending in his mind, Will spent much of his time away from home, trying out various makes of cars.
It was during one such week-end hejira that John Gailbraith returned from abroad. He had only that morning disembarked, and after settling himself in a downtown hotel had come to call on us. I hailed his advent with delight. Our long talks, the exchange of ideas, his alert mind refreshed and stimulated my own. Will once laughingly remarked that I had developed into a veritable human question mark. But in no other way could I induce our friend to talk about himself or his art. He had travelled much and when once started on the subject would retail his experiences in foreign lands. My interest was kept on the _qui vive_.
Then there was his work and achievement. Long were the discussions and criticisms of the "Super-creation" and the thoughts and ideas which had led to its conception.
As yet, I had not been inclined to resume my own work which my son's death had caused me to lay aside. Now, under the influence of my master's encouragement and sympathy, the old ambition quickened. As the summer progressed we came to see a great deal of John Gailbraith.
Indeed, he became a part of our daily life. A genuineness which made itself felt, a cleanliness of mind and speech, together with a quiet humour and a gift of sympathetic understanding, endeared him to his friends. Will shared my feeling, else he had not thrown us so continuously together.
"John Gailbraith is one of the few men in the world to whom I would entrust my wife's honour," he had said one day. I had chided Will for so repeatedly throwing me upon our friend for amusement or companionship.
It had become a common thing for Will to hail his friend thus: "Old man, if you haven't anything better to do to-night, take my missus out to dinner, will you? I have an engagement to hear a play read," or, "I say, Jack old boy, look after the missus while I'm away. I've been asked to go on a motor-trip for a few days and I know it's punishment to drag the poor girl along." (Parenthetically Will rarely asked me to join him on these motor-trips.) It was on such an occasion that I had reproved Will for saddling John Gailbraith with a responsibility which may not have been to his liking. "There may be other friends to whom he may wish to devote himself; besides is it wise that I be seen so continually in his company and without my husband? You know how malicious the world is.
People will say----"
"O, Hell! I believe with Bernard Shaw: 'They say--what do they say? Let them say!' People will always find something to criticize. So long as I am satisfied it's nobody's business. I'm not afraid, girlie, of anyone taking you away from me." And he dismissed the subject.
My husband not only encouraged the idea of my working under the guiding hand of the sculptor but developed an enthusiasm which quite took away my breath. In one of his impulsive moods he rented a studio from an artist member of the Players' Club, who was planning to go abroad for a year. "It's just the thing she needs; something to occupy her mind.
Besides, any little pleasure I can throw her way is coming to her, after the way she stood by when I was down on my luck. It isn't every wife who can support her husband, is it, old man?" And Will slipped his arm about my shoulders with an amused wink. He was in high humour these days.
There was a great scrubbing and cleaning before I pronounced the studio habitable. Will said I was not a true artist. I failed to find art and dirt synonymous or mutually connotating each the other.
The building which housed the studio was in a small street or, more properly, an area-way in the vicinity of lower Fifth Avenue within a stone's throw of Washington Square. John Gailbraith said it was his favourite part of the city. It came to be mine. Sometimes, after we had taken luncheon at a near-by restaurant, we would stroll in the square or sit on one of the benches. Our lounging neighbours were interesting studies in real life. John would point out the various foreign types and compare them with their countrymen on their native heath. At other times I would have our recently acquired cook-lady prepare a dainty lunch basket, which I carried to the studio, and at the noon-hour, while John made the tea, I laid the table. Here we would linger, absorbed in the discussion which with passing days grew more frank and intimate. I no longer felt cramped or warped. Expansion had become an almost measurable sensation. During our vari-toned _pour-parler_, one subject was by seemingly tacit consent taboo. No reference or allusion was ever made to my conjugal affairs. Whatever John Gailbraith thought or knew concerning Will's peccadillos, he gave no intimation. It was not possible that he had not heard of my husband's various _liaisons_. In fact, Will, himself, made no attempt to conceal the attentions of certain women who rang up at his home under flimsiest pretence. He joked lightly about their indiscretions and commented on the fact that he "was getting to be the real thing in the way of a matinee idol." The period following upon my son's death when Will had devoted himself to me with something of the sweetness of our early married life was short-lived.
And if I closed my eyes and ears to the recurring lapses of his fidelity it was because I still hoped that some day he would need my love.
Whether John Gailbraith believed there was an understanding between my husband and me I could only surmise. To have him regard me in the light of a complaisant wife gave me many uncomfortable moments, yet I could not touch upon the subject. The truth lovingly told is that I came nearer to being happy during those summer months than I had been for--how many years had passed since Will and I had set up housekeeping in the little furnished flat of halcyon days?...