Find the Woman

  XXV

  Familiarity breeds endurance as well as contempt. Clancy ate as hearty abreakfast on Monday morning as any criminal that ever lived, and,according to what one reads, condemned criminals on the morning ofexecution have most rapacious appetites. Which is not so odd as peoplethink; how can they know when they're going to eat again?

  She had been in New York one week, lacking a few hours, and in that weekshe had run the scale of sensation. She did not believe that she couldever be excited again. No matter what came, she believed that she wouldhave fortitude to endure it.

  The judge and his wife seemed to have banished alarm. Indeed, they hadseemed to do that last night, for when Mrs. Walbrough had permittedClancy to rise for dinner, she had conducted her to a meal at which notalk of Clancy's plight had been permitted to take place. Later, thethree had played draw-pitch, a card game at which Clancy had shown whatthe judge was pleased to term a "genuine talent."

  Then had come bed. And now, having disposed of a breakfast that wouldhave met the approval of any resident of Zenith, she announced that shewas going out.

  "Better stay indoors," said the judge. "Just as well, you know, ifpeople don't see you too much."

  Clancy laughed.

  "I've been outdoors right along," she said. "It's rather a late date tohide indoors. Besides, I mustn't lose my job."

  "Job!" The judge snorted disgustedly.

  "Why, you mustn't think of work until this matter is all settled!" criedMrs. Walbrough.

  Clancy smiled.

  "I must live, you know."

  "'Live! Live!'" The judge lifted an empty coffee-cup to his mouth, thenset it down with a crash that should have broken it. "Don't be absurd,my dear girl. Mrs. Walbrough and I----"

  "Please!" begged Clancy. She fought against tears of gratitude--ofaffection. "You've been so dear, so--so--'angelic' is the only word thatfits it. Both of you. I'll adore you--always. But you mustn't--I didn'tcome to New York to let other people, no matter how sweet and generousthey might be, do for me."

  The judge cleared his throat.

  "Quite right, my dear; quite right."

  "Of course she is," said Mrs. Walbrough.

  Clancy hid her mirth. It is a wonderful thing to realize that in theeyes of certain people we may do no wrong, that, whatever we do, eventhough these certain people have advised against it, becomes suddenlythe only correct, the only possible course. And to think that she hadknown the Walbroughs only a few days!

  Fate had been brutal to her these past seven days; but Fate had alsobeen kindly.

  "But you'll continue to make this your home--for the present, atleast," said the judge. "Until this affair is closed."

  To have refused would have been an unkindness. They wanted her. Clancywas one of those persons who would always be wanted.

  The judge, as she was leaving, wrote on a card his private-officetelephone-number.

  "If you got the listed one, you might have difficulty in speaking withme. But this wire ends on my desk. I answer it myself."

  Clancy thanked him. Mrs. Walbrough kissed her, and the judge assumed aforlorn, abused expression. So Clancy kissed him also.

  A servant stopped her in the hall.

  "Just arrived, Miss Deane," she said, putting in Clancy's hand a longbox, from one end of which protruded flower-stems. Clancy had never beenpresented with "store" flowers before. In Zenith, people patronize aflorist only on sorrowful occasions.

  And now, gazing at the glorious red roses that filled the box, Clancyknew that she would never go back to Zenith. She had known it severaltimes during the past week, but to-day she knew it definitely, finally.With scandal hovering in a black cloud over her, she still knew it.These roses were emblematic of the things for which she had come to NewYork. They stood for the little luxuries, the refinements of living thatone couldn't have in a country town. Had the greatest sage in the worldcome to Clancy now and told her of what little worth these things werein comparison with the simpler, truer things of the country, Clancywould have laughed at him. How could a man be expected to understand?Further, she wouldn't have believed him. She had seen meannesses inZenith that its gorgeous sunsets and its tonic air could not eradicatefrom memory.

  She turned back, and up-stairs found Mrs. Walbrough.

  "I'll fix them for you," said the judge's wife.

  But Clancy hugged the opened box to her bosom.

  "These are the first flowers _from a florist's_ that I ever received,"she said.

  "Bless your heart!" said Mrs. Walbrough. "I'll even let you fill thevases." Mrs. Walbrough could remember the first flowers sent her by herfirst beau. "But you haven't read the card!" she cried.

  Clancy colored. She hadn't thought of that. She picked up the envelope.

  "Oh!" she gasped, when she had torn the envelope open and read thesender's name. And there were scribbled words below the engraved script:"To a brave young lady."

  Mutely she handed the card to her hostess. Mrs. Walbrough smiled.

  "He isn't as brave as you, my dear. Or else," she explained, "he'd havewritten, 'To a beautiful young lady.' Why," she cried, "that's what hestarted to write! Look! There's a blot, and it's scratched----"

  Clancy's color was fiery.

  "He wouldn't have!" she protested.

  "Well, he didn't; but he wanted to," retorted Mrs. Walbrough.

  Clancy gathered the roses in her arms. She could say nothing. Of course,it was absurd. Mrs. Walbrough had acquired a sudden and great fondnessfor her, and therefore was colored in her views. Still, there was theevidence. There is no letter "t" in brave, and undeniably there had beena "t" in the word that had preceded "young." She saw visions; she sawherself--she dismissed them. Mr. Philip Vandervent was a kindly,chivalrous young man and had done a thoughtful thing. That's all therewas to it. She would be an idiot to read more into the incident. Andyet, there had been a "t" in "brave" until he had scratched it out!

  Her heart was singing as she left the Walbrough house. A score ofSpoffords might have been lurking near and she would never have seenthem.

  Suddenly she thought of Randall. Why hadn't he thought of sending herroses? He had come back from Albany, cut short his trip to California tosee her, to plead once more his cause. Her eyes hardened. He hadn'tpleaded it very strongly. Suddenly she knew why she had been resentfulyesterday--because she had sensed his refusal of her. Refusal! Sheoffered to marry him, and--he'd said, "Wait."

  But she could not keep her mind on him long enough to realize that shewas unjust. The glamour of Vandervent overwhelmed her.

  She walked slowly, and it was after nine when she arrived at SallyHenderson's office.

  Her employer greeted her cordially.

  "Easy job--though tiresome--for you to-day, Miss Deane," she said."Sophie Carey has made another lightning change. Wants to rent her housefurnished as quick as we can get a client. You've got to check herinventory. Hurry along, will you? Here!" She thrust into Clancy's handsprinted slips of paper and almost pushed her employee toward the door.

  Clancy caught a 'bus and rode as far as Eighth Street. On the way, sheglanced at the printed slips. They were lists of about everything, sheimagined, that could possibly be crowded into a house. The task hadfrightened her at first, but now it seemed simple.

  Mrs. Carey's maid had evidently recovered from the indisposition of theother day, or else she had engaged a new one. Anyway, a young woman inapron and cap opened the door.

  Yes; Mrs. Carey was in. In a moment, Clancy had verbal evidence of thefact, for she heard Sophie's voice calling to her. She entered thedining-room. Mrs. Carey was at breakfast. Her husband was with her, butthat his breakfast was the ordinary sort Clancy was inclined to doubt.For by his apparently untouched plate stood a tall glass.

  He rose, not too easily, as Clancy entered.

  "Welcome to our city, little stranger!" he cried.

  Clancy shot a glance at Sophie Carey. She was sorry for her. Mrs.Carey's face was white; she looked old.

  "Going to find
me a tenant?" she asked. Her attempt at joviality wasrather pathetic.

  "Take the house herself. Why not?" demanded Carey. "Nice person to leaveit with. Take good care ev'rything. Make it pleasant for me when I runinto town for a day or so. Nice, friendly li'l brunette to talk to.'Scuse me," he suddenly added. "Sorry! Did I say anything I shouldn't,Sophie darling? I ask you, Miss Deane, did I say a single thingshouldn't've said. Tell me."

  "No, indeed," said Clancy.

  Her heart ached for Sophie Carey. A brilliant, charming, beautiful womantied to a thing like this! Not that she judged Don Carey because of hisintoxication. She was not too rigorous in her judgment of otherpeople's weaknesses. She knew that men can become intoxicated and stillbe men of genius and strength. But Carey's weak mouth, too small forvirility, his mean eyes, disgusted her. What a woman Mrs. Carey wouldmake if the right man---- And yet she was drawn to her husband in someway or another. Possibly, Clancy decided, sheer loneliness made herendure him on those occasions when he returned from his wanderings.

  Mrs. Carey rose.

  "You'll excuse us, Don? Miss Deane must go over the house, you know."

  "Surest thing! Go right 'long. 'F I can help, don't hes'tate t' call onme. Love help li'l brunette."

  How they got out of the room, Clancy didn't know. She thought thatSophie Carey would faint, but she didn't. As for herself, the feelingthat Don Carey's drunken eyes were appraising her figure nauseated her.She was so pitifully inclined toward Sophie that her eyes were blurry.

  Up-stairs in her bedroom, Mrs. Carey met Clancy's eyes. She had beencalm, self-controlled up to now. But the sympathy that she read inClancy weakened her resolution. She sat heavily down upon the edge ofthe bed and hid her face in her hands.

  "O my God, what shall I do?" she moaned.

  Awkwardly, Clancy advanced to her. She put an arm about the olderwoman's shoulders.

  "Please," she said, "you mustn't!"

  Mrs. Carey's hands dropped to her side. Her eyes seemed to grow dry, asthough she were controlling her tears by an effort of her will.

  "I won't. The beast!" she cried. She rose, flinging off, though notrudely, Clancy's sympathetic embrace. "Miss Deane, don't you ever marry.Beasts--all of them!"

  Clancy, with the memory of Vandervent's roses in her mind, shook herhead.

  "He--he just isn't himself, Mrs. Carey."

  The other woman shrugged.

  "'Not himself?' He _is_ himself. When he's sober, he's worse, becausethen one can make no excuses for him. To insult a guest in my house----"

  "I don't mind," stammered Clancy. "I--I make allowances----"

  "So have I. So have all my friends. But now--I'm through with him.I----" Suddenly she sat down again, before a dressing-table. "That isn'ttrue. I've promised him his chance, Miss Deane. He shall have it. We'regoing to the country. He has a little place up in the Dutchess County.We're going there to-day. The good Lord only knows how we'll reach itover the roads, but--it's his only chance. It's his last. And I'm a foolto give it to him. He'll be sober, but--worse then. And still-- Hearhim," she sneered.

  Clancy listened. At first, she thought that it was mere maudlin speech,but as Don Carey's voice died away, she heard another voice--a mean,snarling voice.

  "You think so, hey? Lemme tell you different. All I gotta do is to'phone a cop, and----"

  "Go ahead--'phone 'em," she heard Carey's voice interrupt.

  The other's changed to a whine.

  "Aw, be sensible, Carey! You're soused now, or you wouldn't be such afool. Why not slip me a li'l jack and let it go at that? You don't wantthe bulls comin' in on this."

  Clancy stared at Sophie. The wife walked to the door.

  "Don!" she called. "Who's down-stairs?"

  "You 'tend to your own affairs," came her husband's answer. "Shut yourdoor, and your mouth, too."

  Mrs. Carey seemed to stagger under the retort. She sat down again. Sheturned to Clancy, licking her lips with her tongue.

  "Please--please----" she gasped, "see--who it is--with Don."

  Down-stairs Clancy tiptoed. Voices were raised again in altercation.

  "Why the deuce _should_ I give you money?" demanded Carey. "Suppose Idid run a fake agency for the pictures? Suppose I did promise a fewgirls jobs that they never got? What about it? You can't dig any ofthose girls up. Run tell the police."

  "Yes; that's all right," said the other voice. "But suppose that I tell'em that you had a key to Morris Beiner's office, hey? Suppose I tell'em that, hey?"

  Something seemed to rise from Clancy's chest right up through her throatand into her mouth. Once again on tiptoe, wanting to scream, yetdetermined to keep silent, she edged her way to the dining-room door.Don Carey had made no answer to this last speech of his visitor. Peeringthrough the door, Clancy knew why. He was lying back in a chair, hismouth wide open, his eyes equally wide with fright. And the man at whomhe stared was the man who had been with Spofford yesterday, theelevator-man from the Heberworth Building!