Bacillus of Beauty: A Romance of To-day

  CHAPTER X.

  PLIGHTED TROTH.

  "Helen, you seem tired," John said as I met him at the door--at first Ipeeped out from behind it, I remember, as if I feared thebogey-man--"Have you been too hard at work?"

  "I've been out all the afternoon," I said, "and I suppose I am rathertired, but it was pleasant and warm; and I wore a veil."

  There was a little awkward pause after I had ushered him to thereception room, and then, guiding the talk through channels he thoughtsafe, he spoke about his law work, the amusing things that happen atthe office, his gratifying progress in his profession.

  "Oh," I said, "talking of the law reminds me--some stupid paper wasleft here to-day."

  I found with some difficulty and handed to him the stiff folded legalcap the man had brought.

  He glanced through it with apprehensive surprise, skipping the longsentences to the end.

  "Why, this is returnable to-morrow," he said; "Nelly, I had no idea youwere in such urgent money troubles; why didn't you send for me at once;this morning?"

  "Oh, if that's all--I've had so many duns that I'm tired of them: tiredto death of them."

  "But this isn't a dun," he began in the unnaturally quiet tone of a manwho is trying to keep his temper and isn't going to succeed. "It is acourt order; and people don't ignore court orders unless they want toget into trouble. This paper calls you to court to-morrow morning insupplementary proceedings."

  "I don't know what they are."

  "You don't want to know what they are. You mustn't know. It's an ordealso terrible that most creditors employ it only as a last resort,especially against a woman. This plaintiff, being herself a woman, isless merciful."

  "Why is it so terrible? I have no money; they can't make me pay what Ihaven't got, can they? Is it the Inquisition?"

  "Yes, of a sort; it's an inquiry into your ability to pay, and almostno question that could throw light upon that is barred. You'll be askedabout your business in New York, your income and expenses, your familyand your father's means. It will be a turning inside out of your mostintimate affairs."

  "Why, I should expect all that," I said.

  "But, Nelly--" he hesitated. "You're alone here?"

  He had not before alluded to Mrs. Whitney, though I suppose heunderstood that she had gone; I appreciated his delicacy.

  "I'm afraid you'll be asked about that," he went on; "asked, I mean,how a young woman without money maintains a fine apartment. They'llinquire about your servants, the daily expenses of your table, yourwine bills, if you ever have any; then they'll question you about yourvisitors, their character and number, and try to wring admissions fromyou, and to give sinister shades to innocent relations. The reporterswill all be there, a swarm of them. You're a semi-public character,more's the pity, and some lawyers like to be known for their severityto debtors. What a field day for the press! The beautiful Miss Winshipin supplementary proceedings--columns of testimony, pages ofpictures--! Ugh! In a word, the experience is so severe that you cannotundergo it."

  "I don't see how it's to be helped; is it a crime to live alone?" Isaid. "I won't ask Uncle Timothy for money--and have Aunt Frank knowabout it."

  Again he hesitated, then he said more slowly, but plumping out the lastwords in a kind of desperation: "I've heard a woman--once--asked if shehad a lover--to pay the money, you know."

  I didn't understand at first; then a flush deepened upon my face.

  "They wouldn't dare! This woman knows all about me; why, she's Meg VanDam's dressmaker; Mrs. Whitney's too--" I said.

  "I've heard it done," John repeated patiently. "You must pardon me. Ididn't want to go into this phase of it, but it may explain what, withyour permission, I am about to do. Now, before I go--for I must go atonce to find this attorney, at his house, the Democratic Club,anywhere--I must be frank with you."

  He was already at the door, where he turned and faced me, lookingalmost handsome in his sturdy manliness, his colour heightened byexcitement.

  "I must tell you one thing," he went on very slowly. "I haven't in allthe world a fraction of the money called for by this one bill; but in away I have made some success. I am beginning to be known. If I myselfoffer terms, so much cash down, so much a month, pledging my word forthe payment, the woman's lawyer will agree. She'll be glad to get themoney in that way, or in any way. But I must guard your reputation. Ishall tell plaintiff's counsel that you are my affianced wife, that Ididn't know how badly you were in debt--both statements are true--andthat I assume payment. I wish to assure you that, in thus asserting ourold relation, I shall not presume upon the liberty I am obliged totake."

  I think I have treated John badly; yet he brought me help. And he hadno thought of recompense. Since he has seen how useless it was, he hasceased to pester me with love making, but has been simply, kindlyhelpful. And I have been so lonely, so harassed and tormented.

  It was far enough from my thoughts to do such a thing, but as I stooddumbly looking at him, it flashed upon me that here, after all, was theman who had always loved me, always helped me, always respected me. Ialmost loved him in return. Why not try to reward his devotion, andthrow my distracted self upon his protection?

  "I would not have you tell a lie for me, John," said I uncertainly,holding out my hands and smiling softly into his eyes.

  "I don't understand--" he stood irresolute, yet moved, I could see, bymy beauty. "Do you mean--" and he slowly approached, peering from underhis contracted brows as if trying to read my eyes.

  "I mean that I have treated you very badly; and that I am sorry," Iwhispered, hiding my head with a little sigh upon his shoulder; andafter a time he put his arms about me gently as if half afraid, and wassilent. I felt how good he was, how strong and patient, and was atpeace. I knew I could trust him.

  So we stood for a little while at the dividing line between the futureand the past. I do not know what were his thoughts, but I had not beenso much at rest for a long, long time-not since I came from home to NewYork.

  Then with a sigh of quiet content, he said in a low and gentle voice:--

  "It's a strange thing to hurry away now, Nelly; but you know I have somuch to do before I can rest tonight. I must speak of this: Now--nowthat we are to belong to each other always--I must know exactly aboutall your affairs, so that I can arrange them. There are other debts?"

  The word grated upon my nerves, I had been so glad to forget.

  "Yes, I'm afraid I owe a lot of money, but must we--just to-night?" Iasked.

  "I'm afraid it's safest. It is not alone that you will be able toforget the matter sooner if you confide in me now, but how can we knowthat these proceedings will not be repeated if I don't attend promptlyto everything? Some one else may bring suit tomorrow, and another thenext day, giving you no peace. I'm sorry, but it is the best way. Tellme everything now, and I will arrange with them all, and need nevermention the subject again. Then you can be at peace."

  "Well, if I must--"

  It seemed impossible to go on. Even the thought of how good he was andhow he had taken up my burden when it was too heavy for my own strengthmade it harder to face the horrible business.

  "--I owe ten dollars to Kitty Reid, and about twenty-five to Cadge," Iadmitted. "I didn't mean to borrow of them, but I had to do it, justlately--"

  "Poor child!" said John, stroking my hand with his big, warm paw, as hewould a baby's. "Poor child!"

  "I've bills somewhere for everything else--"

  It was like digging among the ruins of my past greatness to pull outthe crumpled papers from my writing desk, reminding me of the gayscenes that for me were no more; but John quietly took them from me,and began smoothing them and laying them in methodical piles and makingnotes of amounts and names.

  "I've refused all these to Uncle Timothy; he's been worrying me withquestions--" I said desperately.

  "Three florists, two confectioners," he enumerated, as if he had notheard me.

  "--Women eat sweets by the ton, but lately there have been few of '
emin this house. Then here are the accounts for newspaper clippings, youknow; Shanks and Romeike; but they're trifles."

  "You must have been a good customer," John said, glancing about thedishevelled flat--I hadn't had the heart to rearrange it since Mrs.Whitney left. "From the look of the place, I believe you would havebought a mummy or a heathen god, if anybody had suggested it to you."

  "I have a little heathen god--Gautama; alabaster--and a mummied cat."

  "And you're very fond of that? But no matter. Shoemaker and millinerand furniture man; that makes eleven."

  He lengthened his list on the margin of a newspaper.

  "Well, I never paid Van Nostrand for that painting, and I've evenforgotten how much he said it would be. And there's a photographbill--a perfectly scandalous one--and another dressmaker; Mrs. Edgar; Iwent back to her after Meg's woman got crusty, but she never'll sue me.And the Japanese furniture shop and--another photographer--and here'sthe bill for bric-a-brac--that's sixteen. The wine account--there isone, but it ought to be Mrs. Whitney's; for entertaining. I suppose Paand Ma would say that was a very wicked bill, now wouldn't they,Schoolmaster?"

  "They would indeed, Helen 'Lizy; I'm not sure that I don't agree withthem. By the way, does your father know about all this?"

  "Yes, a little. I've begged him for money, but he won't mortgage thefarm. And Judge Baker knows. He wants me to come back to his house, butof course I won't do it. I guess he's sent for Father; Pa's coming Eastsoon, on a cattle train pass."

  "A cattle train!"

  John stabbed the paper viciously, then he said more gently:--

  "A cattle train is cold comfort for a substantial farmer at his time oflife; and I don't think we will let him mortgage."

  That young man will need discipline; but I imagine he was thinking lessabout my poor old father than about--well, I needn't have mentioned theBaker house, but what does he really know of how I came to leave it?Perhaps suspicion and bitter memories made my retort more spirited thanit need have been.

  "We won't discuss that, please," I said with hauteur; "and we won't betoo emphatic about what is past. It _is_ past. I'll find out what is aproper scale of expenditure for a young lawyer's wife in New York, andI shall not exceed it. I've been living very economically for thesphere that seemed open to me. Perhaps I ought not to have tried it;but I think you should blame those who lured me into extravagance andthen deserted me. I've had a terrible, terrible experience! Do you knowthat? And I was within an ace of becoming an ornament of the Britishpeerage. Did you know that?"

  "Yes; I don't blame you for refusing, either; some girls don't seem tohave the necessary strength of mind. No; I'm not blaming anybody foranything. Nelly, next week it will be a year since our first betrothal;do you remember? Haven't you, after all, loved me a little, all thetime?"

  He looked at me wistfully.

  "At least," I said, "I didn't love Lord Strathay."

  I didn't think it necessary to correct him as to my refusal of the Earl.

  "We'll see if Kitty won't take you in again until we can be married,"he said, jabbing the paper again and changing the subject almostbrusquely. "If you don't want to go back to your aunt, that'll bebetter than a boarding house, won't it? You pay the girls out of this,and I'll look after the other bills. There's a good fellow. Now, thenwhat's No. 18?"

  I fingered with an odd reluctance the little roll of bills he handedme, though it was like a life buoy to a drowning sailor.

  "You'd better," he said, with quiet decision, cutting short myhesitation. "The girls won't need to know where it comes from, or thatI know anything about it. It's ever so much nicer that way, don't youthink?"

  I put the money with my pride into my pocket, and continued sorting outbills from the rubbish. In all we scheduled over forty before we gaveit up. Besides the Van Nostrand painting and one or two accounts thatprobably escaped us, I found that I owed between $4,000 and $5,000.

  "That is the whole of my dowry, John," I said.

  "I would as willingly accept you as a portionless bride," he declaimedin theatrical fashion; and then we both broke into hysterical laughter.

  "Never mind," he said, at last, wiping his eyes. "I never dreamed thatall this rubbish about you could cost so much; I ought to have had myeyes open. But now we aren't going to worry one little worry, are we?I'll straighten it all out in time. And now I really must go."

  And so he went away with a parting kiss, leaving me very happy. I don'tknow that I love him; or rather I know that I don't--but I shall begood to him and make him so happy that he'll forget all the trouble Ihave cost him. Dear old unselfish, patient John!

  And I am more content and less torn by anxiety than I have been formany a long day. It is such a relief!

  And so I'm thinking it over. Even from the selfish standpoint I havenot done so badly. John is developing wonderfully. He is not sodestitute of social finesse as when he came, his language is better,his bearing more confident. He makes a good figure in evening dress. Hewill be a famous success in the law, and, with a beautiful wife to helphim, he should go far. He may be President some day, or Minister to theCourt of St. James, or a Justice of the Supreme Court.

  Whatever his career, I shall help him. I have the power to do things inthe world as well as he. And once married, I may almost choose myfriends and his associates. The women will no longer fear me so much.He shall not regret this night's work.

  So that is settled. I am so relieved, and more tired than I have everguessed a woman could be. Tired, tired, tired!

  I'm sure it is the best thing I could do, now; but--Judge Baker isright! What was it he said? "A loveless marriage,"--Oh, well, since Ibroke Ned Hynes's heart by setting a silly little girl to drive himaway, and broke my own by breaking his, I haven't much cared whatbecomes of me; only to be at peace.

  It will be a relief to move out of this accursed flat, where I havespent the gloomiest hours of my life.

  BOOK V.

  THE END OF THE BEGINNING.

  (From the Shorthand Notes of John Burke.)