The Destroying Angel by Louis Joseph Vance
XX
TEMPERAMENTAL
Seldom, perhaps, has an habitation been so unceremoniously vacated aswas the solitary farm-house on that isolated island. Whitaker delayedonly long enough to place a bill, borrowed from Ember, on the kitchentable, in payment for what provisions they had consumed, and toextinguish the lamps and shut the door.
Ten minutes later he occupied a chair beneath an awning on the afterdeck of the yacht, and, with an empty glass waiting to be refilledbetween his fingers and a blessed cigar fuming in the grip of his teeth,stared back to where their rock of refuge rested, brooding over itsdesolation, losing bulk and conformation and swiftly blending into asmall dark blur upon the face of the waters.
"Ember," he demanded querulously, "what the devil is that place?"
"You didn't know?" Ember asked, amused.
"Not the smell of a suspicion. This is the first pleasure, in a mannerof speaking, cruise I've taken up along this coast. I'm a bit weak onits hydrography."
"Well, if that's the case, I don't mind admitting that it is No Man'sLand."
"I'm strong for its sponsors in baptism. They were equipped with astrong sense of the everlasting fitness of things. And the other--?"
"Martha's Vineyard. That's Gay Head--the headland with the lighthouse.Off to the north of it, the Elizabeth Islands. Beyond them, BuzzardsBay. This neat little vessel is now standing about west-no'th-west topick up Point Judith light--if you'll stand for the nautical patois.After that, barring a mutiny on the part of the passengers, she'll swingon to Long Island Sound. If we're lucky, we'll be at anchor off EastTwenty-fourth Street by nine o'clock to-morrow morning. Any kickcoming?"
"Not from me. You might better consult--my wife," said Whitaker with anembarrassed laugh.
"Thanks, no: if it's all the same to you. Besides, I've turned her overto the stewardess, and I daresay she won't care to be interrupted. She'shad a pretty tough time of it: I judge from your rather disreputableappearance. Really, you're cutting a most romantical, shocking figger."
"Glad of that," Whitaker remarked serenely. "Give me another drink.... Ilike to be consistent--wouldn't care to emerge from a personallyconducted tour of all hell looking like a George Cohan chorus-boy....Lord! how good tobacco does taste after you've gone without it a fewdays!... Look here: I've told you how things were with us, in brief; butI'm hanged if you've disgorged a single word of explanation as to howyou came to let Drummond slip through your fingers, to say nothing ofhow you managed to find us."
"He didn't slip through my fingers," Ember retorted. "He launched ayoung earthquake at my devoted head and disappeared before the dustsettled. More explicitly: I had got him to the edge of the woods, thatnight, when something hit me from behind and my light went out in ablaze of red fire. I came to some time later with a tasty little gag inmy mouth and the latest thing in handcuffs on my wrists, behind myback--the same handcuffs that I'd decorated Drummond with--and severalfathoms of rope wound round my legs. I lay there--it was a sort of openwork barn--until nearly midnight the following night. Then the ownerhappened along, looking for something he'd missed--another ass, Ibelieve--and let me loose. By the time I'd pulled myself together, fromwhat you tell me, you were piling up on the rocks back there."
"Just before dawn, yesterday."
"Precisely. Finding you'd vacated the bungalow, I interviewed Sum Fatand Elise, and pieced together a working hypothesis. It was easy enoughto surmise Drummond had some pal or other working with him: _I_ wasslung-shotted from behind, while Drummond was walking ahead. And two menhad worked in the kidnapping of Mrs. Whitaker. So I went sleuthing;traced you through the canal to Peconic; found eye-witnesses of yourrace as far as Sag Harbor. There I lost you--and there I borrowed thisoutfit from a friend, an old-time client of mine. Meanwhile I'd had ageneral alarm sent out to the police authorities all along thecoast--clear to Boston. No one had seen anything of you anywhere. It washeavy odds-on, that you'd gone to the bottom in that blow, all of you;but I couldn't give up. We kept cruising, looking up unlikely places.And, at that, we were on the point of throwing up the sponge when Ipicked up a schooner that reported signal fires on No Man's Land.... Ithink that clears everything up."
"Yes," said Whitaker, sleepily. "And now, without ingratitude, may I askyou to lead me to a bath and my bunk. I have just about fifteen minutesof semi-consciousness to go on."
Nor was this exaggeration; it was hard upon midnight, and he had beenawake since before dawn of a day whose course had been marked by asuccession of increasingly exhaustive emotional crises, following anight of interrupted and abbreviated rest; add to this the inevitablereaction from high nervous tension. His reserve vitality seemed barelysufficient to enable him to keep his eyes open through the rite of thehot salt-water bath. After that he gave himself blindly into Ember'sguidance, and with a mumbled, vague good night, tumbled into the berthassigned him. And so strong was his need of sleep that it was not untilten o'clock the following morning, when the yacht lay at her mooring inthe East River, that Ember succeeded in rousing him by main strength andgood-will.
This having been accomplished, he was left to dress and digest the factthat his wife had gone ashore an hour ago, after refusing to listen to asuggestion that Whitaker be disturbed. The note Ember handed himpurported to explain what at first blush seemed a singularly ungratefuland ungracious freak. It was brief, but in Whitaker's sight eminentlyadequate and compensating.
"DEAREST BOY: I won't let them wake you, but I must run away. It's early and I _must_ do some shopping before people are about. My house here is closed; Mrs. Secretan is in Maine with the only keys aside from those at Great West Bay; and I'm a _positive fright_ in a coat and skirt borrowed from the stewardess. I don't want even you to see me until I'm decently dressed. I shall put up at the Waldorf; come there to-night, and we will dine together. Every fibre of my being loves you.
"MARY."
Obviously not a note to be cavilled at. Whitaker took a serene andshining face to breakfast in the saloon, under the eyes of Ember.
Veins of optimism and of gratulation like threads of gold ran throughthe texture of their talk. There seemed to exist a tacit understandingthat, with the death of Drummond, the cloud that had shadowed the careerof Sara Law had lifted, while her renunciation of her public career hadleft her with a future of glorified serenity and assured happiness. Bycommon consent, with an almost superstitious awe, they begged thequestion of the shadowed and inexplicable past--left the dead past tobury itself, bestowing all their fatuous concern with the to-day ofrejoicing and the to-morrow of splendid promise.
Toward noon they parted ashore, each taking a taxicab to his lodgings.The understanding was that they were to dine together--all three,Whitaker promising for his wife--upon the morrow.
At six that evening, returning to his rooms to dress, Whitaker foundanother note awaiting him, in a handwriting that his heart recognizedwith a sensation of wretched apprehension.
He dared not trust himself to read it in the public hall. It was agonyto wait through the maddeningly deliberate upward flight of theelevator. When he at length attained to the privacy of his ownapartment, he was sweating like a panic-stricken horse. He could hardlycontrol his fingers to open the envelope. He comprehended its contentswith difficulty, half blinded by a swimming mist of foreboding.
"MY DEAR: I find my strength unequal to the strain of seeing you to-night. Indeed, I am so worn out and nerve-racked that I have had to consult my physician. He orders me immediately to a sanatorium, to rest for a week or two. Don't worry about me. I shan't fail to let you know as soon as I feel strong enough to see you. Forgive me. I love you dearly.
"MARY."
The paper slipped from Whitaker's trembling hand and fluttered unheededto the floor. He sprang to the telephone and presently had the Waldorfon the wire; it was true, he learned: Mrs. Whitaker had registered atthe hotel in the morning, and had left at four in the afternoon. He wasrefused informat
He wrote her immediately, and perhaps not altogether wisely, understress of distraction, sending the letter by special delivery in care ofthe hotel. It was returned him in due course of time, embellished with apencilled memorandum to the effect that Mrs. Whitaker had left noaddress.
He communicated at once with Ember, promptly enlisting his willingservices. But after several days of earnest investigation the detectiveconfessed himself baffled.
"If you ask me," he commented at the conclusion of his report, "theanswer is: she means to be let alone until she's quite ready to see youagain. I don't pin any medals on myself for this demonstration ofextraordinary penetration; I merely point out the obvious for your owngood. Contain yourself, my dear man--and stop gnawing your knuckles likethe heavy man in a Third Avenue melodrama. It won't do any good; yourwife promised to communicate with you as soon as her health wasrestored. And not only is she a woman who keeps her promise, but it isquite comprehensible that she should have been shaken up by herextraordinary experience to an extent we can hardly appreciate whohaven't the highly sensitive organization of a woman to contend with.Give her time."
"I don't believe it!" Whitaker raged. "She--she loved me there on theisland. She couldn't change so quickly, bring herself to treat me socruelly, unless some infernal influence had been brought to bear uponher."
"It's possible, but I--"
"Oh, I don't mean that foolishness about her love being a man'sdeath-warrant. That may have something to do with it, but--but, damnit!--I conquered that once. She promised ... was in my arms ... I'd wonher.... She loved me; there wasn't any make-believe about it. If therewere any foundation for that poppycock, I'd be a dead man now--insteadof a man damnably ill-used!... No: somebody has got hold of her, workedon her sympathies, maligned me...."
"Do you object to telling me whom you have in mind?"
"The man you suspect as well as I--the one man to whom her allegiancemeans everything: the man you named to me the night we met for the firsttime, as the one who'd profit the most by keeping her from leaving thestage!"
"Well, if it's Max, you'll know in time. It won't profit him to hide thelight of his star under a bushel; he can only make money by displayingit."
"I'll know before long. As soon as he gets back in town--"
"So you've been after him?"
"Why not? But he's out on the Pacific coast; or so they tell me at thetheatre."
"And expected back--when?"
"Soon."
"Do you know when he left?"
"About the middle of July--they say in his office."
"Then that lets him out."
"But it's a lie."
"Well--?"
"I've just remembered: Max was at the Fiske place, urging her to return,the night before you caught Drummond at the bungalow. I saw them,walking up and down in front of the cottage, arguing earnestly: I couldtell by her bearing she was refusing whatever he proposed. But I didn'tknow her then, and naturally I never connected Max with the fellow Isaw, disguised in a motoring coat and cap. Neither of 'em had any placein my thoughts that night."
Ember uttered a thoughtful "Oh?" adding: "Did you find out at alldefinitely when Max is expected back?"
"Two or three weeks now, they say. He's got his winter productions toget under way. As a matter of fact, it looks to me as if he must beneglecting 'em strangely; it's my impression that the late summer is aproducing manager's busiest time."
"Max runs himself by his own original code, I'm afraid. The chances arehe's trying to raise money out on the Coast. No money, noproductions--in other words."
"I shouldn't wonder."
"But there may be something in what you say--suspect, that is. If Iagree to keep an eye on him, will you promise to give me a free hand?"
"Meaning--?"
"Keep out of Max's way: don't risk a wrangle with him."
"Why the devil should I be afraid of Max?"
"I know of no reason--as yet. But I prefer to work unhampered by theindiscretions of my principals."
"Oh--go ahead--to blazes--as far as you like."
"Thanks," Ember dryly wound up the conference; "but these passingflirtations with your present-day temper leave me with no hankering forgreater warmth...."
Days ran stolidly on into weeks, and these into a month. Nothinghappened. Max did not return; the whispered rumour played wild-fire intheatrical circles that the eccentric manager had encountered financialdifficulties insuperable. The billboards flanking the entrance to theTheatre Max continued to display posters announcing the reopening earlyin September with a musical comedy by Tynan Dodd; but the comedy was noteven in rehearsal by September fifteenth.
Ember went darkly about his various businesses, taciturn--even a tracemore than ever reserved in his communication with Whitaker--preoccupied,but constant in his endeavour to enhearten the desponding husband. Herefused to hazard any surmises whatever until the return of Max or thereappearance of Mary Whitaker.
She made no sign. Now and then Whitaker would lose patience and write toher: desperate letters, fond and endearing, passionate and insistent,wistful and pleading, strung upon a single theme. Despatched under theaddress of her town house, they vanished from his ken as mysteriouslyand completely as she herself had vanished. He received not a line ofacknowledgment.
Day by day he made up his mind finally and definitely to give it up, tomake an end of waiting, to accept the harsh cruelty of her treatment ofhim as an absolute definition of her wishes--to sever his renewed lifein New York and return once and for all to the Antipodes. And day by dayhe paltered, doubted, put off going to the steamship office to engagepassage. The memory of that last day on the lonely island would notdown. Surely she dared not deny the self she had then revealed to him!Surely she must be desperately ill and unable to write, rather thanignoring him so heartlessly and intentionally. Surely the morrow wouldbring word of her!
Sometimes, fretted to a frenzy, he sought out Ember and made wild andunreasonable demands upon him. These failing of any effect other thanthe resigned retort, "I am a detective, not a miracle-monger," he wouldfly into desperate, gnawing, black rages that made Ember fear for hissanity and self-control and caused him to be haunted by that gentlemanfor hours--once or twice for days--until he resumed his normal poise ofa sober and civilized man. He was, however, not often aware of thissedulous espionage.
September waned and October dawned in grateful coolness: an exquisitemonth of crisp nights and enlivening days, of mellowing sunlight andearly gloamings tenderly coloured. Country houses were closed andtheatres reopened. Fifth Avenue after four in the afternoon becamethronged with an ever thickening army--horse, foot and motor-car.Several main-travelled thoroughfares were promptly torn to pieces andset up on end by municipal authorities with a keen eye for thediscomfort of the public. A fresh electric sign blazed on Broadway everyevening, and from Thirty-fourth Street to Columbus Circle the firstnights crackled, detonated, sputtered and fizzled like a string of cheapChinese firecrackers. One after another the most exorbitant restaurantsadvanced their prices and decreased their portions to the prompt andextraordinary multiplication of their clientele: restaurant French for aspecies of citizen whose birth-rate is said to be steadfast to the ratioof sixty to the hour. Wall Street wailed loudly of its poverty andhurled bitter anathemas at the President, the business interest of thecountry continued to suffer excruciating agonies, and the proprietors ofleading hotels continued to add odd thousands of acres to their gamepreserves.
Then suddenly the town blossomed overnight with huge eight-sheet posterson every available hoarding, blazoning the news:
JULES MAX begs to announce the return of SARA LAW in a new Comedy entitled FAITH by JULES MAX Theatre MAX--Friday October 15th
But Whitaker had the information before he saw the broad-sides in thestreets. The morning paper propped up on his breakfast table containedthe illuminating note under the c
"Jules Max has sprung another and perhaps his greatest surprise on the theatre-going public of this city. In the face of the rumor that he was in dire financial straits and would make no productions whatever this year, the astute manager has been out of town for two months secretly rehearsing the new comedy entitled 'Faith' of which he is the author and in which Sara Law will return finally to the stage.
"Additional interest attaches to this announcement in view of the fact that Miss Law has authorized the publication of her intention never again to retire from the stage. Miss Law is said to have expressed herself as follows: 'It is my dearest wish to die in harness. I have come to realize that a great artiste has no duty greater than her duty to her art. I dedicate my life and artistry to the American Public.'
"The opening performance of 'Faith' will take place at the Theatre Max to-morrow evening, Friday, October 15. The sale of seats opens at the box-office this morning. Despite the short notice, a bumper house is confidently expected to welcome back this justly popular and most charming American actress in the first play of which Mr. Max has confessed being the author."
Whitaker glanced up incredulously at the date-line of the sheet. Shortnotice, indeed: the date was Thursday, October fourteenth. Max hadplanned his game and had played his cards cunningly, in withholding thisannouncement until the last moment. So much was very clear to him whoseeyes had wit to read between those lines of trite press-agentphraseology.
After a pause Whitaker rose and began to walk the length of the room,hands in his pockets, head bowed in thought. He was telling himself thathe was not greatly surprised, after all; he was wondering at hiscoolness; and he was conning over, with a grim, sardonic kink in histwisted smile, the needless precautions taken by the dapper littlemanager in his fear of Whitaker's righteous wrath. For Whitaker had nointention of interfering in any way. He conceived it a possibility thathis conge might have been more kindly given him, but ... he had receivedit, and he was not slow to recognize it as absolute and without appeal.The thing was finished. The play was over, so far as concerned his parttherein. He had no doubt played it poorly; but at least his exit wouldnot lack a certain quality of dignity. Whitaker promised himself that.
He thought it really astonishing, his coolness. He analyzed hispsychological processes with a growing wonder and with as much, if lessdefinite, resentment. He would not have thought it credible of himself.Search as he would, he could discover no rankling indignation, nosmouldering rage threatening to flame at the least breath ofprovocation, not even what he might have most confidently looked forwardto--the sickening writhings of self-love mortally wounded and impotentto avenge itself: nothing but some self-contempt, that he had allowedhimself to be so carried away by infatuation for an ignoble woman, and acynic humour that made it possible for him to derive a certainsatisfaction from contemplating the completeness of this finalrevelation of herself.
However, he had more important things to claim his attention than thespectacle of a degraded soul making public show of its dishonour.
He halted by the window to look out. Over the withered tree-tops ofBryant Square, set against the rich turquoise of that late autumnal sky,a gigantic sign-board heralded the news of perfidy to an unperceptiveworld that bustled on, heedless of Jules Max, ignorant (largely) of theexistence of Hugh Whitaker, unconcerned with Sara Law save as sheemployed herself for its amusement.
After all, the truth was secret and like to stay so, jealously husbandedin four bosoms at most. Max would guard it as he would a system forwinning at roulette; Mary Whitaker might well be trusted never todeclare herself; Ember was as secret as the grave....
Returning to the breakfast table, he took up the paper, turned to theshipping news and ran his eye down the list of scheduled sailings:nothing for Friday; his pick of half a dozen boats listed to sailSaturday.
The telephone enabled him to make a hasty reservation on the biggest andfastest of them all.
He had just concluded that business and was waiting with his hand on thereceiver to call up Ember and announce his departure, when the door-bellinterrupted. Expecting the waiter to remove the breakfast things, hewent to the door, threw it open, and turned back instantly to thetelephone. As his fingers closed round the receiver a second time, helooked round and saw his wife....
His hand fell to his side. Otherwise he did not move. But his glance wasthat of one incuriously comprehending the existence of a stranger.
The woman met it fairly and fearlessly, with her head high and her lipstouched with a trace of her shadowy, illegible smile. She was dressedfor walking, very prettily and perfectly. There were roses in hercheeks: a healthful glow distinguishable even in the tempered light ofthe hallway. Her self-possession was faultless.
After a moment she inclined her head slightly. "The hall-boys said youwere busy on the telephone. I insisted on coming directly up. I wishvery much to see you for a few moments. Do you mind?"
"By no means," he said, a little stiffly but quite calmly. "If you willbe good enough to come in--"
He stood against the wall to let her pass. For a breath she was tooclose to him: he felt his pulses quicken faintly to the delicate andindefinite perfume of her person. But it was over in an instant: she hadpassed into the living-room. He followed, grave, collected, aloof.
"I had to come this morning," she explained, turning. "This afternoon wehave a rehearsal...."
He bowed an acknowledgment. "Won't you sit down?"
"Thank you." Seated, she subjected him to a quick, open appraisal,disarming in its naive honesty.
"Hugh ... aren't you a bit thinner?"
"I believe so." He had a match for that impertinence: "But you, I see,have come off without a blemish."
"I am very well," she admitted, unperturbed. Her glance embraced theroom. "You're very comfortable here."
"I have been."
"I hope that doesn't mean I'm in the way."
"To the contrary; but I sail day after to-morrow for Australia."
"Oh? That's very sudden, isn't it? You don't seem to have done anypacking. Or perhaps you mean to come back before a great while?"
"I shan't come back, ever."
"Must I believe you made up your mind this morning?"
"I have only just read the announcement of your opening to-morrownight."
"Then ... I am driving you out of the country?"
Her look was impersonal and curious. He prided himself that he wasmanaging his temper admirably--at least until he discovered that he had,inexplicably, no temper to speak of; that he, in fact, suffered mostlyfrom what seemed to be nothing more than annoyance at being hindered inmaking the necessary arrangements against his departure.
His shoulders moved negligently. "Not to rant about it," he replied: "Ifind I am not needed here."
"Oh, dear!" Her lips formed a fugitive, petulant moue: "And it's myfault?"
"There's no use mincing matters, is there? I am not heartbroken, and ifI am bitterly disappointed I don't care to--in fact, I lack theability--to dramatize it."
"You are taking it well, Hugh," said she, critical.
Expressionless, he waited an instant before inquiring pointedly:"Well...?"
Deliberately laying aside her light muff, her scarf and hand-bag, sherose: equality of poise was impossible if he would persist in standing.She moved a little nearer, examining his face closely, shook her head,smiled almost diffidently, and gave a helpless gesture.
"Hugh," she said in a voice of sincerity, "I'm awfully sorry--truly Iam!"
He made no reply; waited.
"Perhaps I'm wrong," she went on, "but I think most women would havespared themselves this meeting--"
"Themselves and the man," he interjected dryly.
"Don't be cross, Hugh.... I had to come. I had to explain myself. Iwanted you to understand. Hugh, I--" She was twisting her hands togetherwith a manner denoting great mental stra
"Oh," he said in a tone of dawning comprehension--"so that's it!"
"I'm afraid so, Hugh.... I'm dreadfully sorry for you--poor boy!--butI'm afraid that's the trouble with me, and it can never be helped.I was born with a talent for acting; life has made me an actress.Hugh ... I've found out something." Her eyes appealed wistfully. "I'mnot genuine."
He nodded interestedly.
"I'm just an actress, an instrument for the music of emotions. I've beentrained to respond, until now I respond without knowing it, when there'sno true response here." She touched the bosom of her frock.
He said nothing.
With a half sigh she moved away to the window, and before she spokeagain posed herself very effectively there, looking out over the parkwhile she cleared her mind.
"Of course, you despise me. I despise myself--I mean, the self that wasme before I turned from a woman into an actress. But it's the truth: Ihave no longer any real capacity for emotion, merely an infinitecapacity for appreciation of the artistic delineation of emotion, trueor feigned. That ... that is why, when you showed me you had grown tolove me so, I responded so quickly. You _were_ in love--more honestlythan I had ever seen love revealed. It touched me. I was proud to haveinspired such a love. I wanted, for the time being, to have you with mealways, that I might always study the wonderful, the beautifulmanifestations of your love. Why, Hugh, you even managed to make mebelieve I was worth it--that my response was sufficient repayment foryour adoration...."
He said nothing. She glanced furtively at him and continued:
"I meant to be sweet and faithful when I left that note for you on theyacht, Hugh; I was grateful, and I meant to be generous.... But when Iwent to the Waldorf, the first person I met was Max. Of course I had totell him what had happened. And then he threw himself upon mycompassion. It seems that losing me had put him in the most terribletrouble about money. He was short, and he couldn't get the backing heneeded without me, his call upon my services, by way of assurance to hisbackers. And I began to think. I knew I didn't love you honestly, Hugh,and that life with you would be a living lie. What right had I todeceive you that way, just to gratify my love of being loved? Andespecially if by doing that I ruined Max, the man to whom, next to you,I owed everything? I couldn't do it. But I took time to think itover--truly I did. I really did go to a sanatorium, and rested therewhile I turned the whole matter over carefully in my mind, and at lengthreached my decision to stick by Max and let you go, free to win theheart of a woman worthy of you."
She paused again, but still he was mute and immobile.
"So now you know me--what I am. No other man has ever known or everwill. But I had to tell you the truth. It seems that the only thing mycareer had left uncalloused was my fundamental sense of honesty. So Ihad to come and tell you."
And still he held silence, attentive, but with a set face that betrayednothing of the tenor of his thoughts.
Almost timidly, with nervously fumbling fingers, she extracted from herpocket-book a small ticket envelope.
"Max was afraid you might upset the performance again, as you did on mylast appearance, Hugh," she said; "but I assured him it was just theshock of recognizing you that bowled me over. So I've bought you a boxfor to-morrow night. I want you to use it--you and Mr. Ember."
He broke in with a curt monosyllable: "Why?"
"Why--why because--because I want you--I suppose it's simply myvanity--to see me act. Perhaps you'll feel a little less hardly towardme if you see that I am really a great actress, that I give you up forsomething bigger than just love--"
"What rot!" he said with an odd, short laugh. "Besides, I harbour noresentment."
She stared, losing a little colour, eyes darkening with apprehension.
"I did hope you'd come," she murmured.
"Oh, I'll come," he said with spirit. "Wild horses couldn't keep meaway."
"Really, Hugh? And you don't mind? Oh, I'm _glad_!"
"I really don't mind," he assured her with a strange smile."But ... would you mind excusing me one moment? I've forgottensomething very important."
"Why, certainly...."
He was already at the telephone in the hallway, just beyond theliving-room door. It was impossible to escape overhearing his words. Thewoman listened perforce with, in the beginning, a little visible wonder,then with astonishment, ultimately with a consternation that shook herwith violent tremblings.
"Hello," said Whitaker; "get me Rector two-two-hundred....
"Hello? Rector two-two-hundred? North German Lloyd?... This is Mr. H. M.Whitaker. I telephoned you fifteen minutes ago about a reservation onthe _George Washington_, sailing Saturday ... Yes.... Yes.... Yes, Ipromised to call for the ticket before noon, but I now find I shan't beable to go. Will you be kind enough to cancel it, if you please....Thank you.... Good-by."
But when he turned back into the living-room he found awaiting him aquiet and collected woman, perhaps a thought more pale than when she hadentered and with eyes that seemed a trifle darker; but on the wholepositively the mistress of herself.
"Why did you do that?" she asked evenly.
"Because," said Whitaker, "I've had my eyes opened. I've been watchingthe finest living actress play a carefully rehearsed role, one that shehad given long study and all her heart to--but her interpretation didn'tring true. Mary, I admit, at first you got me: I believed you meant whatyou said. But only my mind believed it; my heart knew better, just as ithas always known better, all through this wretched time of doubt andmisery and separation you've subjected us both to. And that was why Icouldn't trust myself to answer you; for if I had, I should have laughedfor joy. O Mary, Mary!" he cried, his voice softening, "my dear, dearwoman, you can't lie to love! You betray yourself in every dear wordthat would be heartless, in every adorable gesture that would seemfinal! And love knows better always.... Of course I shall be in that boxto-morrow night; of course I shall be there to witness your triumph! Andafter you've won it, dear, I shall carry you off with me...."
He opened his arms wide, but with a smothered cry she backed away,placing the table between them.
"No!" she protested; and the words were almost sobs--"No!"
"Yes!" he exclaimed exultantly. "Yes! A thousand times yes! It must beso!"
With a swift movement she seized her muff and scarf from the chair andfled to the door. There pausing, she turned, her face white and blazing.
"It is not true!" she cried. "You are mistaken. Do you hear me? You areutterly mistaken. I do not love you. You are mad to think it. I havejust told you I don't love you. I am afraid of you; I daren't stay withyou for fear of you. I--I despise you!"
"I do not love you. You are mad to think it"]
"I don't believe it!" he cried, advancing.
But she was gone. The hall door slammed before he could reach it.
He halted, turned back, his whole long body shaking, his face wrung withfear and uncertainty.
"Good God!" he cried--"which of us is right--she or I?"