The Business of Life

Even if anybody had come to her and told her of these things she could have found it in her heart to find excuses, to forgive him; she could have believed that he had received Elena and arranged a secret meeting with her merely to tell her that their intrigue was at an end.

She could have accustomed herself to endure the knowledge of this concrete instance. And, whatever else he might have done in the past she could endure; because, to her, it was something too abstract, too vague and foreign to her to seem real.

But the attitude and words of Elena Clydesdale – the unmistakable impression she coolly conveyed that this thing was not yet ended, had poisoned the very spring of her faith in him. And the welling waters were still as bitter as death to her.

What did faith matter to her in the world if she could not trust this man? Of what use was it other than to believe in him? And now she could not. She had tried, and she could not. Only when he was near her – only when she might see him, hear him, could she ever again feel sure of him. And now they were to separate for the day. And – where was he going? And where was the other woman?

And her heart almost stopped in her breast as she thought of the days and days and years and years to come in which she must continue to ask herself these questions.

Yet, in the same quick, agonised breath, she knew she was going to fight for him – do battle in behalf of that broken and fireless altar where love lay wounded.

There were many ways of doing battle, but only one right way. And she had thought of many – confused, frightened, unknowing, praying for unselfishness and for light to guide her.

But there were so many ways; and the easiest had been to forgive him, surrender utterly, cling to him, love him with every tenderness and grace and accomplishment and art and instinct that was hers – with all of her ardent youth, all of her dawning emotion, all of her undeveloped passion.

That had been the easier way in the crisis which stunned and terrified her – to seek shelter, not give it; to surrender, not to withhold.

But whether through wisdom or instinct, she seemed to see farther than the moment – to divine, somehow, that his salvation and hers lay not only in forgiveness and love, but in her power to give or withhold; her freedom to exact what justly was her due; in the preservation of her individuality with all its prerogative, its liberty of choice, its self-respect unshaken, its authority unweakened and undiminished.

To yield when he was not qualified to receive such supreme surrender boded ill for her, and ultimately for him; for it made of her merely an instrument.

Somehow she seemed to know that sometime, for her, would come a moment of final victory; and in that moment only her utter surrender could make the victory eternal and complete.

And until that moment came she would not surrender prematurely. She had a fight on her hands; she knew it; she must do her best, though her own heart were a sword that pierced her with every throb. For his sake she would deny; for his sake remain aloof from the lesser love, inviolate, powerful, mistress of herself and of her destiny.

And yet – she was his wife. And, after all was said and done, she understood that no dual sovereignty ever is possible; that one or the other must have the final decision; and that if, when it came to that, his ultimate authority failed him, then their spiritual union was a failure, though the material one might endure for a while.

And so, believing this, honest with herself and with him, she had offered him her fealty – a white blossom and her key lying beside it in the palm of her hand – in acknowledgment that the supreme decision lay with him.

He had not failed her; the final authority still lay with him. Only that knowledge had sustained her during the long night.

The car stopped at her establishment; she came out of her painful abstraction with a slight start, flushed, and looked at him.

"Will you lunch with me, Jim?"

"I think I'll lunch at the club," he said, coolly.

"Very well. Will you bring the car around at five?"

"The car will be here for you."

"And – you?" She tried to smile.

"Probably."

"Oh! If you have any engagements – "

"I might make one between now and five," he said carelessly. "If I do, I'll come up on the train."

She had not been prepared for this attitude. But there was nothing to say. He got out and aided her to descend, and took her to the door. His manners were always faultless.

"I hope you will come for me," she said, almost timidly.

"I hope so," he said.

And that was all; she offered her hand; he took it, smiled, and replaced his hat after the shop door closed behind her.

Then he went back to the car.

"Drive me to Mrs. Hammerton's," he said curtly; got in, and slammed the door.

CHAPTER XVI

A surprised and very doubtful maid admitted him to Mrs. Hammerton's tiny reception room and took his card; and he fidgeted there impatiently until the maid returned to conduct him.

Mrs. Hammerton sat at coffee in the combination breakfast and dining room of her pretty little apartment. He had never seen her wear glasses, but a pair, presumably hers, was lying across the morning paper on the edge of the table.

Windows behind her threw her face into shadow against the sunlight, and he could not clearly distinguish her features. A canary sang persistently in the sunshine; a friendly cat yawned on the window sill.

"Have some coffee, James?" she asked, without greeting him.

"Thanks, I've breakfasted."

"Very well. There's a chair." She motioned dismissal to the maid. "And close the door!" she added curtly.

The maid vanished, closing the door. Aunt Hannah poured more coffee for herself; now she began to browse on toast and bacon.

"Have you seen the papers?" he asked bluntly.

Her eyes snapped fire: "That was a brave thing you did! I never knew any of the Desboros were cowards."

He looked at her in angry astonishment.

"Well, what do you call it if it isn't cowardice – to slink off and marry a defenseless girl like that!"

"Did you expect me to give you a chance to destroy me and poison Jacqueline's mind? If I had been guilty of the thing with which you charge me, what I have done would have been cowardly. Otherwise, it is justified."

"You have been guilty of enough without that particular thing to rule you out."

"If," he said, controlling his anger, "you really were appointed God's deputy on earth, you'd have to rule out the majority of men who attempt to marry."

"I'd do it, too," she remarked.

"Fortunately," he went on, "your authority for meddling is only self delegated. You once threatened me. You gave me warning like a fair adversary. But even rattlesnakes do that!"

He could see her features more plainly now, having become accustomed to the light; and her scornful expression and the brilliant danger in her beady eyes did not escape him. She darted at a bit of toast and swallowed it.

"So," he ended calmly, "I merely accepted the warning and acted accordingly – if you call that cowardly."