A Man's Hearth

  CHAPTER VI

  THE WOMAN WHO GAVE

  Tony Adriance had not really heeded the weather until he found his wayto the stone pavilion on Riverside Drive at dusk that evening. Cold andwind had recorded slight impression on his preoccupied mind and hishealthy body. Indeed, his feeling was that of a man passing through afever, rather than one chilled. And he was hot with a savage sense ofvictory, for he brought decision back with him. He knew, at last, whathe meant to do.

  He was brought to heed the weather by his need of seeing the girl whowas Holly's nurse. He stood for a while in the pavilion, after realizingthe absurdity of expecting to find her, and considered. He wasaccustomed to having his own way; hardly likely to abandon it when hisnecessity loomed urgent. His distrust of himself was deep, ifunconfessed; he dared not wait until the next day. Besides, the stormmight continue. After a brief pause of bafflement, he walked up toBroadway, found a stationer's shop and a messenger, and dispatched anote to Miss Elsie Murray. He looked curiously at the name, after it waswritten; it seemed so soft, even childish, matched with thatsteadfastness of hers to which he held as to the one stable thing in hisknowledge.

  Would she come? The doubt bore him company on his way back to thepavilion. Could she free herself from duties to come, if she wished? Hedid not know, but he was obstinately resolved to see her that night. Hewas indeed like a man in a fever; one idea consumed him.

  A quarter of an hour passed; a half hour. Dusk, their hour of adventurefixed by chance, had almost darkened to night when Adriance saw thesmall figure for which he watched step from the curb. She hurried,almost ran across the broad avenue, the wind wrapping her garmentsaround her.

  "Thank you," the man greeted her, his gratitude very earnest.

  The girl brushed aside his speech with a gesture. She was breathingrapidly; amid all the shadows her face showed white and small.

  "Of course I came," she said. "It was not easy--to come. I cannot staylong. But I knew you would not have sent unless it was important."

  "No," he affirmed, and paused. "I wonder why you are there? I mean, whyare you somebody's nurse, to be ordered about when you could do so muchbetter things? Of course, I can see how different you are!"

  He stopped, with a sense of alarmed clumsiness. Because she was weary,the girl sat down on the cold stone bench before answering.

  "You are quite wrong," she said quietly. "I cannot do clever things atall. I do not mean that I am stupid, exactly, but that I cannot doanything so especially well as to make people pay me for it. Neither canmy father. I think he is the best man in the world, and my mother thedearest woman, but they cannot make money. He is a professor of romanceand history, at a small college in Louisiana. There are a good many ofus--I have four younger sisters--so I came North to support myself."

  "But----"

  "Not as a nurse, of course. I came with an old lady whose son we knew atthe college. She asked me to be her private secretary. But after a fewmonths she died. I could not go back to be a burden. After I had triedto find other things to do, and failed, I came to take care of Holly.Why are we talking about me? There was something important, you said?"

  "I--yes," Adriance said. He could read so much more than she told.Afterward he was ashamed to remember that he neither felt nor expressedany pity for her disappointed hopes. His whole attention was fixed onher steady courage; the fighting spirit that he had divined in her andtoward which his indecision reached weak hands groping in the dark forsupport.

  The girl shrank behind the stone column nearest her as a blast offreezing wind rushed past.

  "Well?" she spurred his hesitation.

  She was successful. He moved nearer her to be heard; the fever of thelast twenty-four hours thickened and hurried his speech.

  "I'm not going to tell you about Mrs. Masterson," he told her. "In thefirst place, you would not listen, and in the second place, I havenothing to say. But you must know that last evening she broke herengagement with me. I mean, before I saw you in the nursery. I was free,then."

  "She dismissed you?"

  He had deliberately thought out the falsehood that protected LucilleMasterson at his own expense. But it was harder than he had anticipatedto play this weak role before Elsie Murray.

  "Yes," he forced the difficult acknowledgment.

  "You need not have told me that," her slow reply crossed the darkness tohim. "I know it is not true. And I know what is true. It does not matterhow I--learned. But we may as well speak honestly."

  He could have cried out in his great relief. Instead, he seized theoffered privilege of speech.

  "I will, then! You know what I have done to Fred Masterson. I broughtthe glamour of money, of what I could buy, into his household and madehis wife awake to discontent and ambition. I didn't know what mischief Iwas working, until too late. I did not understand some of it until lastnight. Now, what? Suppose I go away? Where can I go? Abroad, or on ahunting trip? While I was gone she would get the divorce, when I cameback she and the rest would push me into the marriage. My own father ispushing me. Everyone pities her and thinks the thing is suitable. Youdon't know me! I like her, and I'm easily pushed. I tell you I never didanything but drift, until last night. I am afraid of myself, yet."

  "Then, why have you sent for me?" she asked, after a silence.

  There was as much sullenness as resolution in the unconscious gesturewith which he folded his arms.

  "Because I mean to stop this thing. Because I am going to take my ownway for the rest of the journey instead of being pushed and pulled. Iquit, to-night."

  "How? What do you mean?"

  "I am leaving the position where I am not strong enough to stand firm.And because I know myself, I am fixing it so I cannot go back. You"--hestumbled over the word--"you are not much better off than I, so far asgetting what you want out of life is concerned. Do you want--will youtry the venture with me? I think, I'm sure I could keep my half of ahome. You once said you would like to be a poor man's wife----"

  The last word died away as if its boldness hushed him with a sense ofwhat he asked so readily. The girl rose to her feet, swaying slightly inthe strong wind; her fingers gripped the stone railing behind her whileshe strove to see his face through the dark. A street lamp sent a faintgrayness into the pavilion, but he stood in shadows.

  "You--are asking--me----?"

  He laughed shortly to cover his own embarrassment.

  "To marry a man who isn't much more than a chauffeur out of work!Driving a car is my only way of earning money, just now. Of course, ifwe go away together we will have to live on what I can bring in. It'snot very dazzling, but neither is being a nurse."

  Comprehension slowly came to her.

  "You would do this so you never could go back," she whispered, half toherself. "To be cut off from everyone, because of me!"

  "Not that!" he offered quick apology. "Why, you are above me by everycount I can make! No, it is because I can't stand alone. And, ofcourse--if I were married----"

  "Mrs. Masterson would give her husband another chance," she finished.

  He could not see her expression, but he felt her bitterness, and that hewas losing.

  "Don't be offended," he appealed. "I thought we could be goodfriends--why, if I did not respect and--and admire you, would I beasking to spend my life with you? I know I am not offering you much, butit's my best."

  "You do not love me."

  He bent his head to the assertion; for it was an assertion, not aquestion. After the dazzling companionship of Lucille Masterson, lovewas scarcely an emotion he could associate with the grave, quiet littlefigure of Elsie Murray. He was surprised and embarrassed anew, andshowed it.

  "I am not very sentimental, I'm afraid. Couldn't we start withfriendship? I'll try to make a good comrade for everyday."

  The delay was long, so long that he anticipated the refusal and felt hisheart sink with a sense of loss and apprehension. All his plans, hesuddenly realized, were founded upon a strength drawn from her. He feltthe tremor of h
is structure of resolution, with that support withdrawn.Unreasonable bitterness surged over him. Even she would not have him,penniless.

  She was shivering. He noticed that, when she spoke.

  "You wish us to understand each other?" she said, her voice quitesteady. "Very well. Remember, then, I never knew who you were until lastnight. You were just a man who seemed lonely, as I was just a womanalone. Remember that I am human, too, and imagine things, and howmonotonous it is to be a nurse and do the same things every day. Ithought you talked to me and came so often because you were commencingto like me. Once you bought violets from a man on the corner, then threwthem away before you crossed to me. I knew you meant them for me, butfeared I would not like you to give them to me. I liked you better forthrowing them away than for buying them. I was--foolish. And I cannotmarry you, because you do not love me, while I--might you."

  With the last low word, she passed him and went from the pavilion, notin running flight, but with the swift, certain step of finality.Adriance was left standing, struck out of articulate thought. Theastounding blow had fallen among his accumulated ideas and scatteredthem like dust. She loved him. Slowly stupefaction gave place to hotshame for the insult of his proposal to her. He had been coarse, selfishbeyond belief and wrapped in egotism. He had asked her to be his wifewith the grace of one engaging a housemaid. And he might have had theunbelievable! A slow-rising excitement mounted through him; a tingling,vivifying interest in the future he had faced with such sullenindifference.

  She was gone from sight. Adriance was not rapid of thought, orreadjustment. But he knew where to look for her, now. He sprang from thepavilion and ran, throwing his weight against the wind's blusteringopposition. The physical effort, in that stinging air, sent his bloodracing with tonic exhilaration. He felt dulness and morbidity droppingaway from him; zest of life taking their place.

  The girl was crossing a dark little strip of park that lay before thehouse where the Mastersons lived, when he overtook her.

  "Elsie Murray!" he panted. "Elsie Murray!"

  His voice had changed, and his accent. He spoke to her possessively; heno longer depended, he directed. Instantly sensitive to the difference,the girl stopped.

  "Are you running away from me, Elsie Murray?" His hand closed lightly onher arm, he stood over her with the advantage of his superior height,and she heard him draw the cold air deeply into his lungs. "I did nottell you the truth, back there. I meant to, but I did not know itmyself. I want what you might give, and I want to give as much to you.Why, do you know what started me toward ending all this bad business,what has given me the will to keep on? It was what you said, the firstnight I saw you, about a woman waiting for her husband, with the lampslit, and all. I can't say what I mean--I'm clumsy! But, will you comekeep the lamp for me?"

  She tried to speak, but to his dismay and her own, instead covered herface; not weeping, but fiercely struggling not to weep.

  "No," she flung refusal at him. "No! No!"

  As her firmness lessened, his gained. She looked pitiful and helpless,she, his tower of strength. Suddenly, protectingly, he caught her fromthe assault of a violent swirl of the gale; caught and held her againsthim, in the curve of his arm.

  "If you may love me, and I want you, we have enough to start with," hegently insisted. "I promise you I'll do my part. Will you try it withme?"

  She remained still. But the long pause, the contact between them, joinedwith the change in the man and helped him.

  "Will you marry me to-night?" he pressed.

  She drew away from him with a flare of her natural resolution.

  "No! Not to-night, if you could!"

  "To-morrow, then?"

  "Go home," she bade him. "Go home; think of everything--of what you haveand what you would leave, of all you want and must miss. _Think._ Andif, to-morrow----"

  "Yes?"

  "If you are sure, come back. I----may try it."

  He knew better than to force her further.

  "To-morrow, then, I will meet you at noon, in the pavilion," he yielded,quietly, in spite of his leaping excitement. "And there is somethingelse. Once I bought these, for you. Of course I dared not give them toyou, afterward. But I did not throw them away, and I brought them in mypocket to-night. Perhaps you will wear them to-morrow, when we go away."

  The storm swooped down again. This time he did not hold her from thegust, and she flitted with it into the darkness. But she took the littlepackage he had pressed into her hands; she had at last the little pairof buckled shoes.