He looked at her, his face devoid of expression, but she had a sense of malignance unutterable eying her from behind a screen.He said: ``I see you've misunderstood my generosity.You think I'm weak where you are concerned because I've come to you instead of doing as I said and making you come to me.'' He rose.
``Well, my offer to you is closed.And once more Isay, you will come to me and ask to be taken back.Imay or may not take you back.It depends on how I'll feel at that time.''
Slowly, with his ludicrously pompous strut, he marched to the drawing-room door.She had not felt like smiling, but if there had been any such inclination it would have fled before the countenance that turned upon her at the threshold.It was the lean, little face with the funny toupee and needle-like mustache and imperial, but behind it lay a personality like the dull, cold, yellow eyes of the devil-fish ambushed in the hazy mass of dun-colored formlessness of collapsed body and tentacles.He said:
``You'd best be careful how you conduct yourself.
You'll be under constant observation.And any friends you make--they'd do well to avoid you.''
He was gone.She sat without the power of motion, without the power of thought.After a time--perhaps long, perhaps short, she did not know--Mrs.
Belloc came in and entered upon a voluble apology for the maid's having shown ``the little gentleman'' into the drawing-room when another was already there.
``That maid's as green as spring corn,'' said she.
``Such a thing never happened in my house before.
And it'll never happen again.I do hope it didn't cause trouble.''
``It was my husband,'' said Mildred.``I had to see him some time.''
``He's certainly a very elegant little gentleman,''
said Mrs.Belloc.``I rather like small men, myself.''
Mildred gazed at her vaguely and said, ``Tell me--a rich man, a very rich man--if he hates anyone, can he make trouble?''
``Money can do anything in this town,'' replied Mrs.
Belloc.``But usually rich men are timid and stingy.
If they weren't, they'd make us all cringe.As it is, I've heard some awful stories of how men and women who've got some powerful person down on them have been hounded.''
Mildred turned deathly sick.``I think I'll go to my room,'' she said, rising uncertainly and forcing herself toward the door.
Mrs.Belloc's curiosity could not restrain itself.
``You're leaving?'' she asked.``You're going back to your husband?''
She was startled when the girl abruptly turned on her and cried with flashing eyes and voice strong and vibrant with passion: ``Never! Never! No matter what comes--NEVER!''
The rest of the day and that night she hid in her room and made no effort to resist the terror that preyed upon her.Just as our strength is often the source of weakness, so our weaknesses often give birth to strength.
Her terror of the little general, given full swing, shrieked and grimaced itself into absurdity.She was ashamed of her orgy, was laughing at it as the sun and intoxicating air of a typical New York morning poured in upon her.She accepted Mrs.Belloc's invitation to take a turn through the park and up Riverside Drive in a taxicab, came back restored to her normal state of blind confidence in the future.About noon Stanley Baird telephoned.
``We must not see each other again for some time,''
said he.``I rather suspect that you--know--who may be having you watched.''
``I'm sure of it,'' said she.``He warned me.''
``Don't let that disturb you,'' pursued Stanley.``Aman--a singing teacher--his name's Eugene Jennings--will call on you this afternoon at three.Do exactly as he suggests.Let him do all the talking.''
She had intended to tell Baird frankly that she thought, indeed knew, that it was highly dangerous for him to enter into her affairs in any way, and to urge him to draw off.She felt that it was only fair to act so toward one who had been unselfishly generous to her.But now that the time for speaking had come, she found herself unable to speak.Only by flatly refusing to have anything to do with his project could she prevail upon him.To say less than that she had completely and finally changed her mind would sound, and would be, insincere.And that she could not say.
She felt how noble it would be to say this, how selfish, and weak, too, it was to cling to him, possibly to involve him in disagreeable and even dangerous complications, but she had no strength to do what she would have denounced another as base for not doing.Instead of the lofty words that flow so freely from the lips of stage and fiction heroines, instead of the words that any and every reader of this history would doubtless have pronounced in the same circumstances, she said:
``You're quite sure you want to go on?''
``Why not?'' came instantly back over the wire.
``He is a very, very relentless man,'' replied she.
``Did he try to frighten you?''
``I'm afraid he succeeded.''
``You're not going back on the career!'' exclaimed he excitedly.``I'll come down there and--''
``No, no,'' cried she.``I was simply giving you a chance to free yourself.'' She felt sure of him now.
She scrambled toward the heights of moral grandeur.
``I want you to stop.I've no right to ask you to involve yourself in my misfortunes.Stanley, you mustn't.I can't allow it.''
``Oh, fudge!'' laughed he.``Don't give me these scares.Don't forget--Jennings at three.Good-by and good luck.''
And he rang off that she might have no chance on impulse to do herself mischief with her generous thoughtfulness for him.She felt rather mean, but not nearly so mean as she would have felt had she let the opportunity go by with no generous word said.``And no doubt my aversion for that little wretch,'' thought she, ``makes me think him more terrible than he is.
After all, what can he do? Watch me--and discover nothing, because there'll be nothing to discover.''
