Mrs. Balfame: A Novel

by Gertrude Franklin Horn Atherton

  CHAPTER IX

  As Rush closed his own door behind him, his troubled spirit shifted itsload. Indubitably, if Dr. Anna had not met him he should have walkeduntil exhausted, and then boarded a train somewhere down the line andarrived in Elsinore dishevelled, haggard, altogether an object ofsuspicion. None knew better than he that in a small community thelightning of suspicion plays incessantly, throwing the faces of innocentand guilty alike into distorted relief. And he had half expected to finda newspaper man awaiting him in the hall below.

  Before turning on his lights he felt his way to the windows and drew thecurtains close. For all he knew there might be a detective or a reportersitting on the opposite fence. His legal mind, deeply versed in criminallaw, fully appreciated his danger and warned him to arm at every point.

  The district attorney, one of Balfame's men, clever, ambitious, but tooill-educated to hope to graduate from Brabant County, or even, politicalinfluence lacking, to climb into the first rank at home, hated thebrilliant newcomer who had beaten him twice during his brief term ofoffice. That Rush "hailed" originally from the county only added to thegrievance. If Brabant wasn't good enough for him in the first place, whyhadn't he stayed where he was wanted?

  But Rush dismissed him from his mind as he remembered uneasily thatAlys Crumley had been sketching out there at the Club while he had beenwrestling with David Balfame. He knew her ambition to get a position ona New York newspaper as a sketch artist; but the possibility that shemight have guessed the secret of his interest in putting an end to thescene, or intended to sell her drawing to one of the reporters, wouldhave given him little uneasiness had the artist not been a young womanupon whom he had ceased to call some two months since.

  He had met Alys Crumley about eighteen months after he had returned toBrabant County and some three months after he had moved from Dobton toElsinore, and at once had been attracted by her bright ambitious mind,combined with a real personality and an appearance both smart andartistic.

  Miss Crumley prided herself upon being unique in Elsinore, at least, andalthough her thick well-groomed hair was dressed with classic severity,and she wore soft gowns of an indescribable cut in the house, and at theevening parties of her friends, she was far too astute to depart fromthe fashion of the moment in the crucial test of street dress and hat.In Park Row during her brief sojourn in the newspaper world, she hadcommanded attention among the critical press women as a girl who knewhow to dress smartly and yet add that personal touch which, whenattempted by those lacking genius in dress, ruins the effect of the mostextravagant tailor. Miss Crumley by no means patronised these autocratsof Fifth Avenue; she bought her tailored suits at the ready-madeestablishments, but like many another American girl, she knew how tobuy, and above all, how to wear her clothes.

  She had taught for several years after graduating from the High School;then, her nerves rebelling, had abandoned this most monotonous ofcareers for newspaper work. To reporting her physique had not provedequal, and although she would have made an admirable fashion editorthese enviable positions were adequately filled. On the advice of thestar reporter of her paper, Mr. James Broderick, who, with othernewspaper men had been entertained occasionally at tea of a Sundayafternoon in her charming little home in Elsinore, she had developed hertalent for drawing during the past year; Mr. Broderick promising to"find her a job" as staff artist when she had improved her technique.

  Then Dwight Rush appeared.

  Miss Crumley lived with her mother in the family cottage next door toDr. Anna's in Elsinore Avenue. Mrs. Crumley, who was the relict of aG. A. R. had eked out her pension during the schooldays of her daughterwith fine sewing, finding most of her patrons among the newcomers. Shealso had cooked for the Woman's Exchange of Brooklyn, besides cateringfor public dinners and evening parties. For several years she enjoyed acomplete rest; therefore, when Alys retired temporarily from the officeof provider in order to study art, Mrs. Crumley willingly re-entered theindustrial field. As both the practical mother and the clever daughterwere amiable women it was a harmonious little household that Dwight Rushfound himself drifting toward intimacy with soon after he met the younglady at a clubhouse dance.

  The living-room--Alys long since had abolished the word parlour from hervocabulary--was furnished in various shades of green as harmonious asthe family temper; there was a low bookcase filled with fashionableliterature, English and American; the magazines and reviews on the tablewere almost blatantly "highbrow," and the cool green walls were furtherembellished with a few delicate water colours conceived in the back-yardatelier by an individual mind if executed by a still somewhat haltingbrush.

  For four months Rush had been a constant visitor at the cottage. MissCrumley, who was as progressively modern as an automobile factory, wasfull of enthusiasm at the moment for the cult of sexless friendshipbetween a man and a maid. She had considered James Broderick at one timeas a likely partner for a philosophic romance (the adjective Platonicwas out of date; moreover, it implied that the cult was not as modern asits devotees would wish it to appear); but the brilliant (and handsome)young reporter not only was very busy but of a mercurial and uncertaintemperament. Nor did he appear to be a youth of lofty ideals; fromcertain remarks, uttered casually, to make matters worse, Alys wasforced to conclude that he despised the man who "wasted his time" onlyless than he despised the "chaser." If pretty, interesting, andunnotional girls came his way and liked him enough, that was "all to thegood"; a busy newspaper man at the beck and call of a city editor had notime for studying over the map of a girl's soul, the lord knew; but if agirl wasn't a "dead game sport," then the sooner a man left the field tosome one with more time, or a yearning for matrimony, the better. Theseremarks had been deliberately thrown out by the canny Mr. Broderick, wholiked "the kid" and didn't want her to "get in wrong" (particularlywith himself as he enjoyed both her society and the artisticliving-room--and Mrs. Crumley's confections) but who saw straightthrough Alys' shifting modernities to the makings of a fine primitivefemale.

  But Rush was no student in sex psychology. He took Miss Crumley on herface value; delighted in finding a comfortable friend of the countersex, and was more than amenable to her desire to cultivate in him ataste for modern literature; since his graduation he had hardly openedanything but law books, legal reviews, and the daily newspaper. She readaloud admirably--particularly plays--and he liked to listen; and as sheconvinced him that he was missing a good part of life, it was not longbefore he was buying for leisurely midnight consumption such work of thefashionable writers as was stimulating and intellectual, and at the sametime sincere.

  She also took him over to several symphony concerts, and often playedclassic selections to him in the twilight. He had no objection to music,as it either spurred his mind into fresh activity upon problemsbesetting it, or soothed him into slumber. He loved the little room withthe soft green shadows; it reminded him of the woods, of which he stillwas passionately fond; and he found it both homelike and safe. Otherhouses in Elsinore, larger and more luxurious, were homelike enough, buttoo often were graced by marriageable daughters, who "showed theirhand." Rush was as little vain and conceited as a man may be, but he waswell aware that eligible men in Elsinore were few, and that everybodymust know that his intake, already large, must increase with the years.

  But--as the wise Mr. Broderick would have predicted had he not beeninterested elsewhere during this period--the tension grew too strong forAlys Crumley. Nervous and high-strung, with her reservoir of humanemotions undepleted by even a hard flirtation since her early youth,idealistic, romantic, and imaginative, she began to realise that witheach long uninterrupted evening--Mrs. Crumley was the most tactful ofparents--she was growing more femininely sensitive to this man'smagnetism and charm, to his quick responsive mind, to the mobility underthe surface of his lean hard face, to the suggestion of indomitablestrength which was the chief characteristic of the new American race ofmen.

  It was not long before she was exaggerating every attractive attributehe
possessed until he no longer seemed what he was, a fine specimen ofhis type, but a glorified superbeing and the one desirable man on earth.Her sense of superiority over this "rather crude Western specimen whoknew nothing but his job," and to whom she could teach so much, hadprotected her for a time, held her femaleness and imagination inabeyance, but insensibly his sheer masculinity swamped her, left herwithout a rock but pride to cling to.

  It was then that she showed her hand.

  For a time after her discovery she was merely furious with herself; shewas twenty-six and no weakling, neither sentiment nor passion shouldmaster her. But this phase was brief. Infatuation is not cast out eitherby reason or pride, and very soon her mind opened to the insidiouswhisper: "Why not?" What was the career of staff artist, full ofliberty, excitement, and good fellowship as it might be, to marriagewith an ambitious man capable of inspiring the wildest love? Sooner orlater had she not intended to make just such a marriage?

  From this inception her deductions followed in logical femininesequence. If she loved him with a completeness which was both preadamicand neoteric, it was of course because he was consumed with a similarpassion; in other words he was her mate. He might be too comfortable andcontent to have realised it so far, but only one awakening was possible,and hers was the entrancing part to reveal him to himself.

  She knew that while by no means a beauty, she was as far fromcommonplace in colouring at least as in style. Her eyes were an oddopaque olive, their tint so pronounced that it seemed to invade the paleivory of her skin and the smooth masses of her hair. It was a far moresubtle face than American women as a rule possess, and the eyes in spiteof a curious inscrutability that might mean anything were capable of aplay of lights directed from a battery more archaic than modern; andlate one evening after she had read him an impassioned drama (ancient)and there was a dusky rose in either cheek, she turned them on.

  Rush immediately took fright. She had not roused a responsive spark ofpassion in him. Moreover, he was now haunted continually by the image ofa sweet, remote, and (to him) far more mysterious woman, whom heworshipped as the ideal of all womanhood.

  There was none of the old time American suavity about Rush. He wasabrupt, forthright, and impatient. But he was kind and innatelychivalrous. He "let Miss Crumley down" as gently as he could; but helet her down. No doubt of that. In less than a week she faced thebewildering fact that a man could strike loose a woman's emotionaltorrents while his own depths awaited the magical touch of another. Itwas incredible, preposterous.

  For a time Alys, in the privacy of her atelier, raged like a fury. Shecursed Rush, particularly when engaged in a violent struggle with thepride which alone held her from grovelling at his feet.

  She was further incensed that he had revealed her to herself as a meremorbid unsatisfied girl, whose quarter of a century should be crowned bya little family of three; and at last she doubted if she had ever lovedhim at all. That she had been a mere female principle unable to escapeits impersonal destiny disgusted her with life, but it served to restoreher balance and philosophy.

  Being a girl of brains and character she emerged from the encounter withpride still crested in the eyes of the man; and if his image was toodeeply stamped into her imagination to prevent a recurrence of wilddesire whenever she was so imprudent as to let her mind wander, sheremembered that all great physical upheavals are followed by many minorshocks, and waited with what patience she could command for fulldelivery.

  Of the sanguinary condition of the battle ground in his young friend'ssoul Rush had a mere glimpse before she took heed and dissembled. Heassumed that she either had fallen in love with him after the fashion ofgirls when they saw too much of a man, or that she was eager to marryand improve her condition. He reproached himself for thoughtlessness,renounced the long evenings in the pretty room with a sigh, and in hisbachelor quarters read the books of her choice. He had a very kindlyfeeling for her, for he knew that he owed her a debt; if he had not metthe other woman--who could tell? Moreover, as he conceived it to be hisduty to shield her from spiteful comment, he danced with her in publicand joined her on the street whenever they met.

  But if he knew nothing of the intricate and interminable ramificationsof sex psychology, the infinite variety of moods peculiar to a woman inlove, he was well enough aware that love is easily turned to hate,particularly when vanity has been deeply wounded; and although he hadconceived a high esteem for Alys Crumley's character during the weeks oftheir intimacy, he knew that men had been mistaken in their estimate ofwomen before this, and that if she discovered that he loved anotherwoman she might be capable of taking the basest revenge.

  It was possible that she was the noblest of her sex, and he hoped shewas, but as he considered her that night, he realised that it behoovedhim to walk warily nevertheless. By the time he could marry EnidBalfame, or even betray his desire to marry her, this crime would havepassed into county history. Of the real danger he never thought.

  The vision evoked of Alys Crumley was accompanied by that of her home,and he looked round his stark bachelor quarters with a sigh.

  The untidy sitting-room was crowded with law books and legal reviews;the maid had given it up in despair long since, and only swept out theashes daily and dusted once a week.

  In the small bedroom was an iron bed like a soldier's; neckties hungfrom the chandelier; on the bureau and table beside the bed were morebooks, several by the young British authors of the moment for whom MissCrumley had communicated some of her rather perfunctory enthusiasm.

  He flung his clothes all over the room as he undressed. He hatedbachelor quarters. Six months hence he would be the master of a home asexquisite as the woman he loved. Balfame! The man was dead, but as Rushthought of him his face turned almost black and his hands tingled andclenched. It would be long before he could hear that name mentionedwithout a hot uprush of hatred and loathing. But it subsided and he tooka bath and "turned in."