An eavesdropper upon the preceding violence of upward of an hour would have assumed that at its end this pair must separate, never to see each other again voluntarily.But that idea, even as a possibility, had not entered the mind of either.They had lived a long time;they were practical people.They knew from the outset that somehow they must arrange to go on together.
The alternative meant a mere pittance of alimony for her; meant for him social ostracism and the small income cut in half; meant for both scandal and confusion.
Said she fretfully: ``Oh, I suppose we'll get along, somehow.I don't know anything about those things.
I've always been looked after--kept from contact with the sordid side of life.''
``That house you live in,'' he went on, ``does it belong to you?''
She gave him a contemptuous glance.``Of course,''
said she.``What low people you must have been used to!''
``I thought perhaps you had rented it for your bunco game,'' retorted he.``The furniture, the horses, the motor--all those things--do they belong to you?''
``I shall leave the room if you insult me,'' said she.
``Did you include them in the seven thousand dollars?''
``The money is in the bank.It has nothing to do with our house and our property.''
He reflected, presently said: ``The horses and carriages must be sold at once--and all those servants dismissed except perhaps two.We can live in the house.''
She grew purple with rage.``Sell MY carriages!
Discharge MY servants! I'd like to see you try!''
``Who's to pay for keeping up that establishment?''
demanded he.
She was silent.She saw what he had in mind.
``If you want to keep that house and live comfortably,''
he went on, ``you've got to cut expenses to the bone.You see that, don't you?''
``I can't live any way but the way I've been used to all my life,'' wailed she.
He eyed her disgustedly.Was there anything equal to a woman for folly?
``We've got to make the most of what little we have,'' said he.
``I tell you I don't know anything about those things,'' repeated she.``You'll have to look after them.
Mildred and I aren't like the women you've been used to.
We are ladies.''
Presbury's rage boiled over again at the mention of Mildred.``That daughter of yours!'' he cried.
``What's to be done about her? I've got no money to waste on her.''
``You miserable Tammany THING!'' exclaimed she.
``Don't you dare SPEAK of my daughter except in the most respectful way.''
And once more she opened out upon him, wreaking upon him all her wrath against fate, all the pent-up fury of two years--fury which had been denied such fury's usual and natural expression in denunciations of the dead bread-winner.The generous and ever-kind Henry Gower could not be to blame for her wretched plight; and, of course, she herself could not be to blame for it.So, until now there had been no scapegoat.
Presbury therefore received the whole burden.He, alarmed lest a creature apparently so irrational, should in wild rage drive him away, ruin him socially, perhaps induce a sympathetic court to award her a large part of his income as alimony, said not a word in reply.He bade his wrath wait.Later on, when the peril was over, when he had a firm grip upon the situation--then he would take his revenge.
They gave up the expensive suite at the Waldorf that very day and returned to Hanging Rock.They alternated between silence and the coarsest, crudest quarrelings, for neither had the intelligence to quarrel wittily or the refinement to quarrel artistically.As soon as they arrived at the Gower house, Mildred was dragged into the wrangle.
``I married this terrible man for your sake,'' was the burden of her mother's wail.``And he is a beggar--wants to sell off everything and dismiss the servants.''
``You are a pair of paupers,'' cried the old man.
``You are shameless tricksters.Be careful how you goad me!''
Mildred had anticipated an unhappy ending to her mother's marriage, but she had not knowledge enough of life or of human nature to anticipate any such horrors as now began.Every day, all day long the vulgar fight raged.Her mother and her stepfather withdrew from each other's presence only to think up fresh insults to fling at each other.As soon as they were armed they hastened to give battle again.She avoided Presbury.Her mother she could not avoid; and when her mother was not in combat with him, she was weeping or wailing or railing to Mildred.
It was at Mildred's urging that her mother acquiesced in Presbury's plans for reducing expenses within income.At first the girl, even more ignorant than her mother of practical affairs, did not appreciate the wisdom, not to say the necessity, of what he wished to do, but soon she saw that he was right, that the servants must go, that the horses and carriages and the motors must be sold.When she was convinced and had convinced her mother, she still did not realize what the thing really meant.Not until she no longer had a maid did she comprehend.To a woman who has never had a maid, or who has taken on a maid as a luxury, it will seem an exaggeration to say that Mildred felt as helpless as a baby lying alone in a crib before it has learned to crawl.Yet that is rather an understatement of her plight.The maid left in the afternoon.
Mildred, not without inconveniences that had in the novelty their amusing side, contrived to dress that evening for dinner and to get to bed; but when she awakened in the morning and was ready to dress, the loss of Therese became a tragedy.It took the girl nearly four hours to get herself together presentably--and then, never had she looked so unkempt.With her hair, thick and soft, she could do nothing.
``What a wonderful person Therese was!'' thought she.``And I always regarded her as rather stupid.''
Her mother, who had not had a maid until she was about thirty and had never become completely dependent, fared somewhat better, though, hearing her moans, you would have thought she was faring worse.
