CHAPTER IX.
CONSEQUENCES.
You may have a fondness for grapes that are green, And the sourness that greenness beneath; You may have a right To a colic at night-- But consider your children's teeth!
Dr. Hale retired from his gaily illuminated grounds in too muchdispleasure to consider the question of dignity. One suddenly actingcause was the news given him by Vivian. The other was the sight ofMorton Elder's face as he struck a match to light his cigarette.
Thus moved, and having entered and left his own grounds like a thiefin the night, he proceeded to tramp in the high-lying outskirts of thetown until every light in his house had gone out. Then he returned,let himself into his office, and lay there on a lounge until morning.
Vivian had come out so quickly to greet the doctor from obscuremotives. She felt a sudden deep objection to being found there withMorton, a wish to appear as one walking about unconcernedly, and whenthat match glow made Morton's face shine out prominently in the darkshelter, she, too, felt a sudden displeasure.
Without a word she went swiftly to the house, excused herself to herGrandmother, who nodded understandingly, and returned to TheCottonwoods, to her room. She felt that she must be alone and think;think of that irrevocable word she had uttered, and its consequences.
She sat at her window, rather breathless, watching the rows of pinklanterns swaying softly on the other side of the street; hearing thelively music, seeing young couples leave the gate and stroll offhomeward.
Susie's happiness came more vividly to mind than her own. It was sofreshly joyous, so pure, so perfectly at rest. She could not feel thatway, could not tell with decision exactly how she did feel. But if thiswas happiness, it was not as she had imagined it. She thought of thatmoonlit summer night so long ago, and the memory of its warm wonderseemed sweeter than the hasty tumult and compulsion of to-night.
She was stirred through and through by Morton's intense emotion, butwith a sort of reaction, a wish to escape. He had been so madlyanxious, he had held her so close; there seemed no other way but toyield to him--in order to get away.
And then Dr. Hale had jarred the whole situation. She had to be politeto him, in his own grounds. If only Morton had kept still--thatgrating match--his face, bent and puffing, Dr. Hale must have seenhim. And again she thought of little Susie with almost envy. Evenafter that young lady had come in, bubbled over with confidences andraptures, and finally dropped to sleep without Vivian's having beenable to bring herself to return the confidences, she stole back to herwindow again to breathe.
Why had Dr. Hale started so at the name of Mrs. St. Cloud? That waspuzzling her more than she cared to admit. By and by she saw hiswell-known figure, tall and erect, march by on the other side and gointo the office.
"O, well," she sighed at last, "I'm not young, like Susie. Perhaps it_is_ like this--"
Now Morton had been in no special need of that cigarette at thatspecial moment, but he did not wish to seem to hide in the duskyarbor, nor to emerge lamely as if he had hidden. So he lit the match,more from habit than anything else. When it was out, and the cigarettewell lighted, he heard the doctor's sudden thump on the other side ofthe fence and came out to rejoin Vivian. She was not there.
He did not see her again that night, and his meditations were suchthat next day found him, as a lover, far more agreeable to Vivian thanthe night before. He showed real understanding, no triumph, no airs ofpossession; took no liberties, only said: "When I am good enough Ishall claim you--my darling!" and looked at her with such restrainedlonging that she quite warmed to him again.
He held to this attitude, devoted, quietly affectionate; till hersense of rebellion passed away and her real pleasure in hisimprovement reasserted itself. As they read together, if now and thenhis arm stole around her waist, he always withdrew it when socommanded. Still, one cannot put the same severity into a prohibitiontoo often repeated. The constant, thoughtful attention of a manexperienced in the art of pleasing women, the new and franklyinexperienced efforts he made to meet her highest thoughts, to learnand share her preferences, both pleased her.
He was certainly good looking, certainly amusing, certainly had becomea better man from her companionship. She grew to feel a sort ofownership in this newly arisen character; a sort of pride in it. Then,she had always been fond of Morton, since the time when he was only"Susie's big brother." That counted.
Another thing counted, too, counted heavily, though Vivian neverdreamed of it and would have hotly repudiated the charge. She was awoman of full marriageable age, with all the unused powers of herwoman's nature calling for expression, quite unrecognized.
He was a man who loved her, loved her more deeply than he had everloved before, than he had even known he could love; who quiterecognized what called within him and meant to meet the call. And hewas near her every day.
After that one fierce outbreak he held himself well in check. He knewhe had startled her then, almost lost her. And with every hour oftheir companionship he felt more and more how much she was to him.Other women he had pursued, overtaken, left behind. He felt that therewas something in Vivian which was beyond him, giving a stir and liftof aspiration which he genuinely enjoyed.
Day by day he strove to win her full approval, and day by day he didnot neglect the tiny, slow-lapping waves of little tendernesses, smallaffectionate liberties at well-chosen moments, always promptlywithdrawing when forbidden, but always beginning again a littlefurther on.
Dr. Bellair went to Dr. Hale's office and sat herself down solidly inthe patient's chair.
"Dick," she said, "are you going to stand for this?"
"Stand for what, my esteemed but cryptic fellow-practitioner?"
She eyed his calm, reserved countenance with friendly admiration. "Youare an awfully good fellow, Dick, but dull. At the same time dull andtransparent. Are you going to sit still and let that dangerous patientof yours marry the finest girl in town?"
"Your admiration for girls is always stronger than mine, Jane; and Ihave, if you will pardon the boast, more than one patient."
"All right, Dick--if you want it made perfectly clear to yourunderstanding. Do you mean to let Morton Elder marry Vivian Lane?"
"What business is it of mine?" he demanded, more thanbrusquely--savagely.
"You know what he's got."
"I am a physician, not a detective. And I am not Miss Lane's father,brother, uncle or guardian."
"Or lover," added Dr. Bellair, eyeing him quietly. She thought she saw asecond's flicker of light in the deep gray eyes, a possible tighteningof set lips. "Suppose you are not," she said; "nor even a humanitarian.You _are_ a member of society. Do you mean to let a man whom you knowhas no right to marry, poison the life of that splendid girl?"
He was quite silent for a moment, but she could see the hand on thefarther arm of his chair grip it till the nails were white.
"How do you know he--wishes to marry her?"
"If you were about like other people, you old hermit, you'd know it aswell as anybody. I think they are on the verge of an engagement, ifthey aren't over it already. Once more, Dick, shall you do anything?"
"No," said he. Then, as she did not add a word, he rose and walked upand down the office in big strides, turning upon her at last.
"You know how I feel about this. It is a matter of honor--professionalhonor. You women don't seem to know what the word means. I've toldthat good-for-nothing young wreck that he has no right to marry foryears yet, if ever. That is all I can do. I will not betray theconfidence of a patient."
"Not if he had smallpox, or scarlet fever, or the bubonic plague?Suppose a patient of yours had the leprosy, and wanted to marry yoursister, would you betray his confidence?"
"I might kill my sister," he said, glaring at her. "I refuse to arguewith you."
"Yes, I think you'd better refuse," she said, rising. "And you don'thave to kill Vivian Lane, either. A man's honor always seems to wantto kill a woman to sati
sfy it. I'm glad I haven't got the feeling.Well, Dick, I thought I'd give you a chance to come to your senses, areal good chance. But I won't leave you to the pangs of unavailingremorse, you poor old goose. That young syphilitic is no patient ofmine." And she marched off to perform a difficult duty.
She was very fond of Vivian. The girl's unselfish sweetness ofcharacter and the depth of courage and power she perceived behind thesensitive, almost timid exterior, appealed to her. If she had had adaughter, perhaps she would have been like that. If she had had adaughter would she not have thanked anyone who would try to save herfrom such a danger? From that worse than deadly peril, because ofwhich she had no daughter.
Dr. Bellair was not the only one who watched Morton's growing devotionwith keen interest. To his aunt it was a constant joy. From the time herboisterous little nephew had come to rejoice her heart and upset herimmaculate household arrangements, and had played, pleasantly thoughtyrannically, with the little girl next door, Miss Orella had dreamedthis romance for him. To have it fail was part of her grief when he lefther, to have it now so visibly coming to completion was a deep delight.
If she had been blind to his faults, she was at least vividlyconscious of the present sudden growth of virtues. She beamed at himwith affectionate pride, and her manner to Mrs. Pettigrew was one ofbarely subdued "I told you so." Indeed, she could not restrain herselfaltogether, but spoke to that lady with tender triumph of how lovelyit was to have Morton so gentle and nice.
"You never did like the boy, I know, but you must admit that he isbehaving beautifully now."
"I will," said the old lady; "I'll admit it without reservation. He'sbehaving beautifully--now. But I'm not going to talk about him--toyou, Orella." So she rolled up her knitting work and marched off.
"Too bad she's so prejudiced and opinionated," said Miss Elder toSusie, rather warmly. "I'm real fond of Mrs. Pettigrew, but when shetakes a dislike----"
Susie was so happy herself that she seemed to walk in an aura of rosylight. Her Jimmie was so evidently the incarnation of every masculinevirtue and charm that he lent a reflected lustre to other men, even toher brother. Because of her love for Jimmie, she loved Mortonbetter--loved everybody better. To have her only brother marry herdearest friend was wholly pleasant to Susie.
It was not difficult to wring from Vivian a fair knowledge of howthings stood, for, though reserved by nature, she was utterly unusedto concealing anything, and could not tell an efficient lie if shewanted to.
"Are you engaged or are you not, you dear old thing?" demanded Susie.
And Vivian admitted that there was "an understanding." But Susieabsolutely must not speak of it.
For a wonder she did not, except to Jimmie. But people seemed to makeup their minds on the subject with miraculous agreement. The generalinterest in the manifold successes of Mrs. St. Cloud gave way to thisvivid personal interest, and it was discussed from two sides amongtheir whole circle of acquaintance.
One side thought that a splendid girl was being wasted, sacrificed,thrown away, on a disagreeable, good-for-nothing fellow. The otherside thought the "interesting" Mr. Elder might have done better; theydid not know what he could see in her.
They, that vaguely important They, before whom we so deeply bow, werealso much occupied in their mind by speculations concerning Mr.Dykeman and two Possibilities. One quite patently possible, evenprobable, giving rise to the complacent "Why, anybody could seethat!" and the other a fascinatingly impossible Possibility of a sortwhich allows the even more complacent "Didn't you? Why, I could see itfrom the first."
Mr. Dykeman had been a leading citizen in that new-built town for someten years, which constituted him almost the Oldest Inhabitant. He wasreputed to be extremely wealthy, though he never said anything aboutit, and neither his clothing nor his cigars reeked of affluence.Perhaps nomadic chambermaids had spread knowledge of thosesilver-backed appurtenances, and the long mirror. Or perhaps it wasnot woman's gossip at all, but men's gossip, which has wider base, andwider circulation, too.
Mr. Dykeman had certainly "paid attentions" to Miss Elder. Miss Elderhad undeniably brightened and blossomed most becomingly under theseattentions. He had danced with her, he had driven with her, he hadplayed piquet with her when he might have played whist. To be sure, hedid these things with other ladies, and had done them for years past,but this really looked as if there might be something in it.
Mr. Skee, as Mr. Dykeman's oldest friend, was even questioned a little;but it was not very much use to question Mr. Skee. His manner was notrepellant, and not in the least reserved. He poured forth floods ofinformation so voluminous and so varied that the recipient was ratherdrowned than fed. So opinions wavered as to Mr. Dykeman's intentions.
Then came this lady of irresistible charm, and the unmarried citizensof the place fell at her feet as one man. Even the married onesslanted over a little.
Mr. Dykeman danced with her, more than he had with Miss Elder. Mr.Dykeman drove with her, more than he had with Miss Elder. Mr. Dykemanplayed piquet with her, and chess, which Miss Elder could not play.And Miss Elder's little opening petals of ribbon and lace curled upand withered away; while Mrs. St. Cloud's silken efflorescence, softlywaving and jewel-starred, flourished apace.
Dr. Bellair had asked Vivian to take a walk with her; and they sattogether, resting, on a high lonely hill, a few miles out of town.
"It's a great pleasure to see this much of you, Dr. Bellair," said thegirl, feeling really complimented.
"I'm afraid you won't think so, my dear, when you hear what I have tosay: what I _have_ to say."
The girl flushed a little. "Are you going to scold me about something?Have I done anything wrong?" Her eyes smiled bravely. "Go on, Doctor.I know it will be for my best good."
"It will indeed, dear child," said the doctor, so earnestly thatVivian felt a chill of apprehension.
"I am going to talk to you 'as man to man' as the story books say; aswoman to woman. When I was your age I had been married three years."
Vivian was silent, but stole out a soft sympathetic hand and slipped itinto the older woman's. She had heard of this early-made marriage, alsoearly broken; with various dark comments to which she had paid noattention.
Dr. Bellair was Dr. Bellair, and she had a reverential affection forher.
There was a little silence. The Doctor evidently found it hard tobegin. "You love children, don't you, Vivian?"
The girl's eyes kindled, and a heavenly smile broke over her face."Better than anything in the world," she said.
"Ever think about them?" asked her friend, her own face whitening as shespoke. "Think about their lovely little soft helplessness--when you holdthem in your arms and have to do _everything_ for them. Have to go andturn them over--see that the little ear isn't crumpled--that the coversare all right. Can't you see 'em, upside down on the bath apron,grabbing at things, perfectly happy, but prepared to howl when it comesto dressing? And when they are big enough to love you! Little soft armsthat will hardly go round your neck. Little soft cheeks against yours,little soft mouths and little soft kisses,--ever think of them?"
The girl's eyes were like stars. She was looking into the future; herbreath came quickly; she sat quite still.
The doctor swallowed hard, and went on. "We mostly don't go muchfarther than that at first. It's just the babies we want. But you canlook farther--can follow up, year by year, the lovely changing growingbodies and minds, the confidence and love between you, the pride youhave as health is established, strength and skill developed, andcharacter unfolds and deepens.
"Then when they are grown, and sort of catch up, and you have thosesplendid young lives about you, intimate strong friends and tenderlovers. And you feel as though you had indeed done something for theworld."
She stopped, saying no more for a little, watching the girl's awedshining face. Suddenly that face was turned to her, full of exquisitesympathy, the dark eyes swimming with sudden tears; and two soft eagerarms held her close.
"Oh, Doctor!
To care like that and not--!"
"Yes, my dear;" said the doctor, quietly. "And not have any. Not beable to have any--ever."
Vivian caught her breath with pitying intensity, but her friend wenton.
"Never be able to have a child, because I married a man who hadgonorrhea. In place of happy love, lonely pain. In place ofmotherhood, disease. Misery and shame, child. Medicine and surgery,and never any possibility of any child for me."
The girl was pale with horror. "I--I didn't know--" She tried to saysomething, but the doctor burst out impatiently:
"No! You don't know. I didn't know. Girls aren't taught a word ofwhat's before them till it's too late--not _then_, sometimes! Womenlose every joy in life, every hope, every capacity for service orpleasure. They go down to their graves without anyone's telling themthe cause of it all."
"That was why you--left him?" asked Vivian presently.
"Yes, I left him. When I found I could not be a mother I determined tobe a doctor, and save other women, if I could." She said this withsuch slow, grave emphasis that Vivian turned a sudden startled face toher, and went white to the lips.
"I may be wrong," the doctor said, "you have not given me yourconfidence in this matter. But it is better, a thousand times better,that I should make this mistake than for you to make that. You mustnot marry Morton Elder."
Vivian did not admit nor deny. She still wore that look of horror.
"You think he has--That?"
"I do not know whether he has gonorrhea or not; it takes a longmicroscopic analysis to be sure; but there is every practicalassurance that he's had it, and I know he's had syphilis."
If Vivian could have turned paler she would have, then.
"I've heard of--that," she said, shuddering.
"Yes, the other is newer to our knowledge, far commoner, and reallymore dangerous. They are two of the most terrible diseases known tous; highly contagious, and in the case of syphilis, hereditary. Nearlythree-quarters of the men have one or the other, or both."
But Vivian was not listening. Her face was buried in her hands. Shecrouched low in agonized weeping.
"Oh, come, come, my dear. Don't take it so hard. There's no harm doneyou see, it's not too late."
"Oh, it _is_ too late! It is!" wailed the girl. "I have promised tomarry him."
"I don't care if you were at the altar, child; you _haven't_ marriedhim, and you mustn't."
"I have given my word!" said the girl dully. She was thinking ofMorton now. Of his handsome face, with it's new expression ofrespectful tenderness; of all the hopes they had built together; ofhis life, so dependent upon hers for its higher interests.
She turned to the doctor, her lips quivering. "He _loves_ me!" shesaid. "I--we--he says I am all that holds him up, that helps him tomake a newer better life. And he has changed so--I can see it! He sayshe has loved me, really, since he was seventeen!"
The older sterner face did not relax.
"He told me he had--done wrong. He was honest about it. He said hewasn't--worthy."
"He isn't," said Dr. Bellair.
"But surely I owe some duty to him. He depends on me. And I havepromised--"
The doctor grew grimmer. "Marriage is for motherhood," she said. "Thatis its initial purpose. I suppose you might deliberately foregomotherhood, and undertake a sort of missionary relation to a man, butthat is not marriage."
"He loves me," said the girl with gentle stubbornness. She saw Morton'seyes, as she had so often seen them lately; full of adoration and manlypatience. She felt his hand, as she had felt it so often lately, holdinghers, stealing about her waist, sometimes bringing her fingers to hislips for a strong slow kiss which she could not forget for hours.
She raised her head. A new wave of feeling swept over her. She saw avista of self-sacrificing devotion, foregoing much, forgiving much,but rejoicing in the companionship of a noble life, a soul rebuilt, alove that was passionately grateful. Her eyes met those of her friendfairly. "And I love him!" she said.
"Will you tell that to your crippled children?" asked Dr. Bellair."Will they understand it if they are idiots? Will they see it if theyare blind? Will it satisfy you when they are dead?"
The girl shrank before her.
"You _shall_ understand," said the doctor. "This is no case foridealism and exalted emotion. Do you want a son like Theophile?"
"I thought you said--they didn't have any."
"Some don't--that is one result. Another result--of gonorrhea--is tohave children born blind. Their eyes may be saved, with care. But itis not a motherly gift for one's babies--blindness. You may have yearsand years of suffering yourself--any or all of those diseases'peculiar to women' as we used to call them! And we pitied the men who'were so good to their invalid wives'! You may have any number ofstill-born children, year after year. And every little marred deadface would remind you that you allowed it! And they may be deformedand twisted, have all manner of terrible and loathsome afflictions,they and their children after them, if they have any. And many do!dear girl, don't you see that's wicked?"
Vivian was silent, her two hands wrung together; her whole formshivering with emotion.
"Don't think that you are 'ruining his life,'" said the doctor kindly."He ruined it long ago--poor boy!"
The girl turned quickly at the note of sympathy.
"They don't know either," her friend went on. "What could Miss Orellado, poor little saint, to protect a lively young fellow like that! Allthey have in their scatter-brained heads is 'it's naughty but it'snice!' And so they rush off and ruin their whole lives--and theirwives'--and their children's. A man don't have to be so very wicked,either, understand. Just one mis-step may be enough for infection."
"Even if it did break his heart, and yours--even if you both livedsingle, he because it is the only decent thing he can do now, youbecause of a misguided sense of devotion; that would be better than tocommit this plain sin. Beware of a biological sin, my dear; for itthere is no forgiveness."
She waited a moment and went on, as firmly and steadily as she wouldhave held the walls of a wound while she placed the stitches.
"If you two love each other so nobly and devotedly that it is higherand truer and more lasting than the ordinary love of men and women,you might be 'true' to one another for a lifetime, you see. And allthat friendship can do, exalted influence, noble inspiration--that isopen to you."
Vivian's eyes were wide and shining. She saw a possible future, notwholly unbearable.
"Has he kissed you yet?" asked the doctor suddenly.
"No," she said. "That is--except----"
"Don't let him. You might catch it. Your friendship must be distant.Well, shall we be going back? I'm sorry, my dear. I did hate awfullyto do it. But I hated worse to see you go down those awful steps fromwhich there is no returning."
"Yes," said Vivian. "Thank you. Won't you go on, please? I'll comelater."
An hour the girl sat there, with the clear blue sky above her, thesoft steady wind rustling the leaves, the little birds that hopped andpecked and flirted their tails so near her motionless figure.
She thought and thought, and through all the tumult of ideas it grewclearer to her that the doctor was right. She might sacrifice herself.She had no right to sacrifice her children.
A feeling of unreasoning horror at this sudden outlook into a field ofunknown evil was met by her clear perception that if she was oldenough to marry, to be a mother, she was surely old enough to knowthese things; and not only so, but ought to know them.
Shy, sensitive, delicate in feeling as the girl was, she had a fairand reasoning mind.