CHAPTER XXVII
Walking home that night, with Mrs. Houghton's "tell Eleanor" ringing inhis ears, Maurice imagined a "confession," and he, too, used Mr.Houghton's words, "'there will be an explosion!' But I'll gamble on it;I'll tell her. I promised Mrs. Houghton I would," Then, very anxiously,he tried to decide how he should do it; "I must choose just the rightmoment," he thought.
When, three months later, the moment came, he hardly recognized it. Hehad been playing squash and had given his knee a nasty wrench; theensuing synovitis meant an irritable fortnight of sitting at home nearthe telephone, with his leg up, fussing about office work. And when hewas not fussing he would look at Eleanor and say to himself, "How can Itell her?" Then he would think of his boy developing into a littlejoyous liar--and thief! The five cents that purchased the jew's-harp,instead of going into the missionary box, was intensely annoying to him."But the lying is the worst. I can stand anything but lying!" the poorlying father thought. It was then that Eleanor caught his eye, ahalf-scared, appraising, entreating eye--and stood still, looking downat him.
"Maurice, you want something? What is it?"
"Oh, Nelly!" he said; "I want--" And the thing tumbled from his lips insix words: "I want you to forgive me."
Eleanor put her hand to her throat; then she said, "I know, Maurice."
Silence tingled between them. Maurice said, "You _know_?"
She nodded. He was too stunned to ask how she knew; he only said, "I'vebeen a hound."
Instantly, as though some locked and bolted door had been forced, herheart was open to him. "Maurice! I can bear it--if only you don't lie tome!"
"I have lied," he said; "but I can't go on lying any more! It's beenhell. Of course you'll never forgive me."
Instantly she was on her knees beside him, and her lips trembled againsthis cheek; but she was silent. She was agonizing, not for herself, butfor him; _he had suffered_. And when that thought came, Love rose like awave and swept jealousy away! It was impossible for her to speak. Overin his basket old Bingo growled.
"It was years ago," he said, very low; "I haven't--had anything to dowith her since; but--"
She said, gasping, "Do you ... love her still?"
"Good God! no; I never loved her."
"Then," she said, "I don't mind."
His arms went about her, his head dropped on her shoulder. The littledog, unnoticed, barked angrily. For a few minutes neither of them couldspeak. To him, the unexpectedness of forgiveness was an absolute shock.Eleanor, her cheek against his hair, wept. Happy tears! Then shewhispered:
"There is ... a child?"
He nodded speechlessly.
"Maurice, I will love it--"
He was too overcome to speak. Here she was, this irritating, foolish,faithful woman, coming, with outstretched, forgiving arms--to rescue himfrom his long deceit!
"I have known it," she said, "for nearly two years."
"And you never spoke of it!"
"I couldn't."
"I want to tell you everything, Eleanor. It was--that Dale woman."
She pressed very close to him: "I know."
He wondered swiftly how she knew, but he did not stop to ask; his wordsrushed out; it was as if the jab of a lancet had opened a hidden wound:"I never cared a copper for her. Never! But--it happened. I was angryabout something, and,--Oh, I'm not excusing myself. There isn't anyexcuse! But I met her, and somehow--Oh, Eleanor!"
"Maurice, ... what does she call you?"
"Call me? What do you mean?"
"What name?"
"Why, 'Mr. Curtis,' of course."
"Not 'Maurice'? Oh--I'm so glad! Go on."
"Well, I never saw her again until she wrote to me about ... this child.Eleanor! I tried to tell you. Do you remember? One night in the boardinghouse--the night of the eclipse? I thought you'd never forgive me, but Itried to tell you ... Oh, Star, you are wonderful!"
It was an amazing moment; he said to himself: "Mrs. Houghton was right.Edith was right. How I have misjudged her!" He went on, Eleanor stillkneeling beside him, sometimes holding his hand to her lips, sometimespressing her wet cheek against his; once her graying hair fell softlyacross his eyes ... "Then," he said, "then ... the baby was born."
"Oh, _we_ had no children!"
His arms comforted her. "I didn't care. I have never cared. I hated theidea of children, because of ... this child."
"Is his name Jacky?"
"That's what she called him. I never really noticed him, until winterbefore last; then I kind of--" He paused, then rushed on; it was to beTruth henceforward between them! "I sort of--got fond of him." Hewaited, holding his breath; but there was no "explosion"! She justpressed his hand against her breast.
"Yes, Maurice?"
"He was sick and she sent for me--"
"I know. That's how I knew. The telegram came, and I--Oh," sheinterrupted herself, "I wasn't prying!" She was like a dog, shrinkingbefore an expected blow.
The fright in her face went to his heart; what a brute he must have beento have made her so afraid of him!
"It was all right to open it! I'm glad you opened it. Well, he waspretty sick, and I had to get him into the hospital; and after that Ibegan to get sort of--interested in him. But now I'm worried to death,because--" Then he told why he was worried; he told her almost withpassion!... "For he's an awfully fine little chap! But she's ruininghim." It was amazing how he was able to pour himself out to her! Hisanxiety about Jacky, his irritation at Lily--yet his appreciation ofLily; he wouldn't go back on Lily! "She wasn't bad--ever. Just unmoral."
"I understand."
"Oh, Eleanor, to be able to talk to you, and tell you!" So he went ontelling her: he told her of his faint, shy pride in his little son; toldher a funny speech, and she laughed. Told her Jacky had seen a rainbowin the gutter and said it was "handsome." "He really notices Beauty!"Told her of Lily's indignation at the Sunday-school teacher, and his owneffort to make Jacky tell the truth, "I have a tremendous influence overhim. He'll do anything for me; only, I see him so seldom that I can'tcounteract poor old Lily's influence. She hasn't any idea of our way oflooking at things."
"You must counteract her! You must see him all the time."
"Eleanor," he said, "I have never known you!"
He tried to lift her and hold her in his arms, but she was terrifiedabout his knee.
"No! Don't move! You'll hurt your knee. Maurice, can't I see him?"
"What! Do you really want to?" he said, amazed "Eleanor, you arewonderful!"
That whole evening was entire bliss--as much to Maurice as to Eleanor;to him, it was escape from the bog of secrecy in which, soiled withself-disgust, he had walked for nearly nine years; and with the cleansense of touching the bedrock of Truth was an upspringing hope for hislittle boy, who "noticed Beauty"! He would be able to see Jacky, andtrain him, and gain his affection, and make a man of him. He had asudden vision of companionship. "He'll be in business with me." Butthat made him smile at himself. "Well, we'll go to ball games, anyway!"
To Eleanor, the evening was a mountain peak; from the sun-smittenheights of a forgiveness that knew itself to be Love, and forgot that itforgave, she looked out, and saw--not that grave where Truth and Pridewere buried, but a new heaven and a new earth; Maurice's completedevotion. And his child,--whom she could love.
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