The Barrier: A Novel

  CHAPTER XVII

  WHICH DEALS WITH SEVERAL OF OUR PERSONAGES

  It is assumed in many fairy tales that the story ends with theengagement, the beginning of which marks the end of trouble. But love,though a solvent of selfishness, works slowly, and the added friction ofconstant companionship is needed to make its results perfect.Temperament and taste, therefore, during an engagement retain most oftheir power. Thus it is not surprising that two months were notsufficient to harden Beth Blanchard to the roughness of her lover'sembraces; she even found further faults in him.

  Of these shadows on his happiness Jim became early aware, and obeying apassion which had not yet lost all its purity or force, he hadendeavoured to modify himself to suit the conditions which Beth verygently imposed. He became less anthropophagous, moderating the violenceof his kisses; he came very near to estimating the value of her modesty,which formed the essence of her sweetness. But he was already so much ofa man that he felt his superiority, and still so much of a boy that hefretted at restraint. To expect him to stay always contented at Beth'sside was like asking him to admire Mozart when he had rag-time in hisblood. Her dainty harmonies were foreign to him.

  One Saturday evening he was at the Blanchards' when Mather came to call.Beth proposed to go into the front parlour and speak to him. Jimobjected. "He comes for your sister; and besides, I see enough of himduring the week."

  But above her friendship for Mather, Beth possessed that spirit ofhospitality--old-fashioned, to be sure--which impelled her to greet eachvisitor that came to the house. Further, she felt that to keep out ofsight of all who came, while yet she was within hearing, was not in thebest of taste. "But I haven't seen him for a long time," she said."And--I think we'd better go, Jim, if only for a little while."

  "Cut it short, then," he grumbled, and followed her through thecurtains.

  "Much of a suitor he is!" thought Jim, as he noticed how gladly Matherrose from Judith's side and greeted Beth. Perhaps Judith thought thesame. There was a wholesome freshness about Beth which often broughtmen's eyes to her and kept them there. Jim was usually proud of it; nowit irritated him. Moreover, he was left to talk with Judith, and that hehad found to be difficult. Therefore, when he had had more than enoughof her monosyllables, and felt that he had made a fool of himself in hisefforts to entertain her, he tried to break into the talk of the othertwo. Beth had been speaking of Chebasset.

  "A hole!" said Jim, rising and standing by her chair. "An awful hole!"

  Mather laughed; Beth gave Jim a distressed little smile. "You did wellto get away and leave the work to me," continued Jim, addressing hissuperior. He tried, successfully, for the effect of the true word spokenin jest. "Winter coming on, too."

  Mather laughed again. "Jim," he said, "I went through all that when Iwas your age, and worked at the machines besides."

  "You see, Jim," said Beth, "how much further ahead you are than George."

  "Nothing wonderful," he answered, for her remark went wrong. So did hisown; Mather exchanged a glance with Judith, and Beth shrank. Jim put hisarm around her neck. "Well, well," he went on, "let's not talkbusiness."

  Beth removed the arm, gently, as she rose. "Yes, we'll forget all thattill Monday," she said, and moved toward the door again. "We just camein to say good-evening, George." She and Jim went away, to begin astruggle of temperaments.

  "Why did you stay so long there?" he asked at once.

  "But Jim," she explained, "a little more makes no real difference, andis so much more polite."

  "It makes a difference to me," he retorted, "when I have to talk withyour sister. Darn it, you know she and I never get on."

  She winced at his expletive, which seemed to hint of something stronger,and so was just as bad. "Don't," she pleaded. "I--I'm sorry aboutJudith, Jim."

  "I might be allowed to say darn sometimes," he complained. "Most men saysomething worse."

  "It's just--manners, Jim," she answered. "And don't you think the wayyou spoke to George, when so much depends upon him----"

  "Look here, Beth," he interrupted, "am I not a fair judge of my ownbehaviour?"

  "I didn't say that, dear!" she cried.

  "He needn't give himself such airs, anyway," Jim went on. "Pease is myboss, not Mather."

  "Oh, I think you mistake," she said.

  "Pease gave me the place," Jim persisted, "because--you know."

  The reference hurt poor Beth, to whom the thought of Pease was distress."Don't speak of it, dear," she begged.

  "It's so," asserted Jim. "But you'd think Mather was my father, fromthe advice he gave me. Great fun it was, for you to give him anotherchance at me!"

  There was nothing for her except submission. "I'm sorry," she said. ButBeth was not meek; she let him see, by tone and manner, that she yieldedonly because she was overborne. Therefore he gave another thrust to makehis conquest sure.

  "I'm sorry you don't like my arm about your neck," he said. "Pleaseexcuse me for putting it there."

  She went close to him. "Only when other people are about," sheexplained, and put up her face. "You may--kiss me now, Jim, if you wantto."

  Beth would have been glad even of one of his engulfing embraces, as asign of reconciliation; but he kissed her gingerly and then sat down,not on the sofa, but on a chair. Next he was surly for a while; then herose to go.

  "I'm tired," he said. "It's been a hard week."

  After that lie her sympathy was a reproach. "I'm so sorry," shewhispered, caressing him. "If I was cross, forgive me, dear. You do workhard for me." No accusation could have cut deeper; he could scarcelylook her in the eyes as he said good-night at the door.

  Poor Beth laid her forehead against the dull wood, and listened to hisfootsteps until they were gone. It worried her that Jim was tired, andthat she, not understanding, had been hard on him. She wished herperceptions had been quicker; she resolved to study how to please him.Poor, simple Beth!

  Jim, grumbling at his crosses, went homeward, but not home. For theHarmon house was by his way; he saw lights in the lower windows, and heloitered. Next, he went and rang the bell. He was shown into theparlour, into a new atmosphere, for Mrs. Harmon rose with evidentgladness from her book, and her very greeting changed his mood. TheJudge was in his study; should she call him? Jim took his cue from theflash of her eye. "No, no!" he cried, and they laughed together.

  And as he sat and looked at her--what a difference! There was fullnessof good looks in the face, far more pronounced than Beth's; the shoulderwas plump, the arm firm and pink. Beth never showed such attractions asthese, having the feeling that modesty became a girl. But though Mrs.Harmon was no longer young, "Gad!" thought Jim, "if girls only knew asmuch as women!" Mrs. Harmon brought cigarettes; she joked him as a manwould. Jolly, this was!

  Jim took a cigarette from the case she offered. "You're sure you don'tmind the smoke?" he asked.

  "I? Mind the smoke?" she returned. "I like it so much that--what do youthink of my box?" She closed the cigarette-case and showed him itscover, standing by his side as he sat.

  "Swell!" said Jim. "Those Cupids with masks are simply slap! Whoseinitials, Mrs. Harmon? Yours?" He laughed.

  "Why not mine?" she asked.

  "L. H.," read Jim. "L. is the Judge's initial, I know."

  "My name is Lydia," she said. "And my husband's name is Abiel, Mr.Wayne."

  Jim rose hastily. "Then this is really your case, Mrs. Harmon. And doyou--will you--smoke with me?"

  "Of course I will!" she cried.

  Jim felt himself very much indeed like those fellows in New York orParis. She smoked gracefully; the movements displayed her hand and thelong, bare, beautiful arm. The shoulder rounded as she raised thecigarette to her lips; even shoulder-straps would have marred thatdisplay. But while he admired, with a sudden movement she cast thecigarette into the fireplace: some one was at the front door.

  It was Ellis. "Oh, it's only you, Stephen," she said, when his shortform appeared in the doorway. "I needn't have spoiled my smoke, afterall
."

  "You needn't have stopped anything for me," said Ellis, and added: "Justdropped in to inquire for the Judge."

  Jim perceived, from Mrs. Harmon's laughter, that this was a byword withher intimates; he offered her the box of cigarettes, and when she choseone, struck a match.

  "No, no!" she cried, "your cigarette."

  She took it from him, her fingers brushing his; she lighted her own andthen offered his again. But when he was about to take it: "No, yourmouth!" she ordered, and obediently he opened his mouth to receive it.Then she began to laugh at him, richly and infectiously, so that helaughed with her, but did not miss the spectacle she presented. Standingwith her back against the center table, she leaned with her hands uponit; her shoulders became more attractive than ever, and between themrose the swelling throat. He laughed with delight, and letting his eyewander over those charms, he missed the glances, amused and defiant,which passed between Mrs. Harmon and Ellis.

  "So you're up to this, Lydia?" he seemed to inquire, but she to respond:"Do not you interfere, sir!"

  There is no analysing those processes by which we find our affinities,no theory of chance which will satisfactorily account for the meetingsof like states of mind. But here were Jim, once peevish, and Mrs.Harmon, once bored, quite satisfied at last in each other's company,and before long making this so evident that Ellis perceived that he hadinterrupted. They left him out; Jim spoke to him from time to time, orMrs. Harmon turned on him that same warning glance. But if they chose toact so, Ellis did not care; in fact, an idea came to him, and he smiledas he watched Jim, like an astronomical body, moving along the line ofleast resistance.

  For Ellis had just parted from Colonel Blanchard, who had called on him.Ellis had received the Colonel in the one room of his mansion whichrevealed daily occupancy, which no housekeeper might invade with dusteror broom. From among many papers in many cases, Ellis drew Blanchard'spromissory note, and silently laid it before him.

  "You come to redeem this?" he asked. "More than prompt, ColonelBlanchard."

  The Colonel did not offer to explain with exactness. Like that person inthe fairy tale who sought to recover the lost cheeses by rolling othersafter them, Blanchard had been throwing his dollars into the bottomlesspit of the stock-market and expecting them to return many-fold. But hehad broken the ice once with Ellis; it was easier now. He had, he said,been--unfortunate. But if Mr. Ellis would only advance a little more, hehad not the slightest doubt of repaying in full, and very soon.

  Ellis knew the signs of the gambler; absolute certainty of making goodhis losses, equal vagueness as to sources of supply. He made out anothercheck; the Colonel signed another note. They parted, but now, here atthe Harmons', Wayne seemed to recall the Colonel by his shallow,gentlemanly ways.

  Months ago Judith had told Ellis that his way lay through the men. Therewere only three who in any degree, through any feeling, might influenceher in his favour. One was Mather: out of the question. One was theColonel: he was secure. The third was Wayne, of whom, for her sister'ssake, Judith wished to make more of a man. During his stay Ellis wasmostly silent, studying this new problem.