CHAPTER VIII
AGAINST THE BARS
Jasper Morena had stood for an hour in a drafty passage of that dirtylabyrinth known vaguely to the public as "behind the scenes,"listening to the wearisome complaints of a long-nosed young actor. Itwas the sixth of such conversations that he had held that day: tobegin with, there had been a difficulty between a director and theleading man. Morena's tact was still complete; he was very gentle tothe long-nosed youth; but the latter, had he been capable of seeinganything but himself, must have noticed that his listener's face waspale and faintly lined.
"Yes, my boy, of course, that's reasonable enough. I'll do what Ican."
"I don't make extravagant demands, you see," the young man spread downand out his hands, quivering with exaggerated feeling; "I ask only fordecent treatment, what my own self-respect ab-so-lute-ly demands."
Morena put a hand on his shoulder and walked beside him.
"Did you ever stop to think," he said with his charming smile, "thatthe other fellow is thinking and saying just the same thing? Now, thischap that has, as you put it, got your goat, why, he came to mehimself this morning, and, word for word, he said of you justprecisely what you have just said of him to me. Odd, isn't it?"
Again the young actor stopped for one of his gestures, hands up thistime. "But, my God, sir! Is there such a thing as honesty? He couldn'taccuse me of--"
"Well, he thought he could. However, I do get your point of view and Ithink we can fix it up for you so that you'll get off with yourself-respect entirely intact. I'll talk to George to-morrow. You'reworth the bother. Good-afternoon."
The young man bowed, his air of tragic injury softened to one oftragic self-appreciation. Worth the bother, indeed!
Morena left him at the top of the dingy stairs down which the managerfled to an alley at one side of the theater, where his car was waitingfor him. He stood for a while with his foot on the step and his handon the door, looking rather blankly at the gray, cold wall and thescurrying whirlwinds of dust and paper.
"Drop yourself at the garage, Ned," he said, "and I'll take the car."
He climbed in beside the wheel. He was very tired, but he hadremembered that Jane West, when he had last seen her, had worn a lookof profound discouragement. She never complained, but when he saw thatparticular expression he was frightened and the responsibility for hercame heavily upon him. This wild thing he had brought to New York mustnot be allowed to beat its head dumbly against the bars.
When he had got rid of his driver, he turned the car northward, and afew minutes later Mathilde, the French maid chosen by Betty, openedJane's door to him.
While he took off his coat he looked along the hall and saw its ownersitting, her chin propped on a latticework of fingers. She was gazingout of the window. It was a beautiful, desperate silhouette; somethingfateful in the long, still pose and the fixed look. She was stilldressed in street clothes as when she had left the theater, a blouseand skirt of dark gray, very plain. Her figure, now that it wastrained to slight corseting, was less vigorous and more fine-drawn.She was very thin, but she had lost her worn and haggard look; thepremature hard lines had almost disappeared; a softer climate, propercare, rest, food, luxury had given back her young, clear skin and thebrightness of eyes and lips. Her hair, arranged very simply to frameher face in a broken setting of black, was glossy, and here and there,deeply waved. It was the arrangement chosen for her by Betty andcopied from a Du Maurier drawing of the Duchess of Towers. It was hardto believe that this graceful woman was the virago Jane, harder forany one that had seen a heavy, handsome girl stride into Mrs. Upper'shotel and ask for work, to believe that she was here.
Morena clapped his hands in the Eastern fashion of summons, and Janelooked toward him.
"Oh," she said, "I'm glad you came."
He strolled in and stood beside her shaking his head.
"I didn't like the look of you this afternoon, my dear."
"Well, sir," said Jane, "I don't like the look of you either." Shesmiled her slow, unself-conscious smile. "You sit down and I'll maketea for you."
He knew that thought for some one else was the best tonic for hermood, so he dropped, with his usual limp grace, into the nearestchair, put back his head and half-closed his eyes.
"I'm used up," he said; "I haven't a word--not one to throw at a dog."
"Please don't throw one at me, then. I surely wouldn't take it as acompliment." She made the tea gravely, as absorbed in the work as alittle girl who makes tea for her dolls. She brought him his cup andwent back to her place and again her face settled into that look. Shehad evidently forgotten him and her eyes held a vision as ofdistances.
He put a hand up to break her fixed gaze. "What is it, Jane? What doyou see?"
To his astonishment she hid her face in her hands. "It's awful to livelike this," she moaned; and it frightened him to see her move her headfrom side to side like an imprisoned beast, shifting before bars.
He looked about the pretty room and repeated, "Like this?"half-reproachfully.
"I hate it!" She spoke through her teeth. "I hate it! And, oh, thesounds, the noises, grinding into your ears."
Here the hands came to her ears and framed a white, desperate face inwhich the lids had fallen over sick eyes.
Jasper sat listening to the hum and roar and clatter of the street. Tohim it was a pleasant sound, and here it was subdued and remoteenough. Her face was like that of some one maddened by noise.
"You don't smell anything fresh"--her chest lifted--"you don't getair. I can't breathe. Everything presses in." She opened her eyes,bright and desperate. "What am I doing here, Mr. Morena?"
He had put down his cup quietly, for he was really half-afraid of her."Why did you come, Jane?"
"Because I was afraid of some one. I was running away, Mr. Morena.There's some one that mustn't ever find me now, and to run away fromhim--that was the business of my life. And it kept my heart full ofhim and the dread of his coming. You see, that was my happiness. Ihoped he was taking after me so's I could run away." She laughedapologetically. "Does that sound crazy to you?"
"No. I think I understand. And here?"
"He'll never come here. He'll never find me. It's been four years. AndI'm so changed. This"--she gave herself a downward look--"this isn'tthe 'gel' he wants.... Probably by now he's given me up. Maybe he'sfound another. Everything that's bad and hateful can find me out here.Bad things can find you out and try to clutch after you anywheres. Butwhen something wild and clean comes hunting for you, something out ofthe big lonely places--why, it would be scared to follow into thiscity."
"You're lonely, Jane. I've told you a hundred times that you ought tomake friends for yourself."
"Oh, I don't care for that. I don't want friends, not many friends.These acting people, they're not real folks. I don't savvy their waysand they don't savvy mine. They always end by disliking me because I'mqueer and different from them. You have been my friend, and yourwife--that is, she used to be." Suddenly Jane became more her usualself and spoke with childlike wistfulness. "She doesn't come to see meany more, Mr. Morena. And I could love her. She's so like a littlegirl with those round eyes--" Jane held up two circles made byforefingers and thumbs to represent Betty's round eyes. "Oh, dear!"she said; "isn't she awfully winning? Seems as if you must be takingcare of her. She's so small and fine."
Jasper laughed with some bitterness.
"She doesn't like me now," sighed Jane, but the feelings Betty hadhurt were connected with a later development so that they turned hermood and brought her to a more normal dejection. She was no longer acaged beast, she had temporarily forgotten her bars.
"I think you're wrong," said Jasper doubtfully. "Betty does like you.She's merely busy and preoccupied. I've been neglected myself."
Jane gave him a far too expressive look. It was as though she hadsaid, "You don't fancy that she cares for you?"
Jasper flushed and blinked his long, Oriental eyes.
"It's a pity you haven't a lover,
Jane," he said.
She had walked over to the window, and his speech, purposely a triflecruel and insulting, did not make her turn.
"You're angry," she said. "You'd better go home. I'm not in good humormyself."
At which he laughed his murmuring, musical laugh and prepared to leaveher.
"I have a great deal of courage," he said, getting into his coat, "tobring a wild-cat here, chain her up, and tease her--eh?"
"You think you have me chained?" Her tone was enraged and scornful. "Ican snap your flimsy little tether and go."
She wheeled upon him. She looked tall and fierce and free.
"No, no," he cried with deprecating voice and gesture. "You are makingMr. Luck's fortune and mine, not to mention your own. You mustn'tbreak your chains. Get used to them. We all have to, you know. It'smuch the best method."
"I shall never get used to this life, never. It just--somehow--isn'tmine."
"Perhaps when you meet Mr. Luck, he'll be able to reconcile you."
Her expressive face darkened. "When shall I meet Mr. Luck?"
"Soon, I hope. Mr. Melton knows just when to announce the authorship."
"I hate Mr. Luck more than any one in the world," she said in a low,quiet voice.
Jasper stared. "Hate him! Why, in the name of savagery, should youhate him?"
"Oh, I can't explain. But you'd better keep us apart. How came he towrite 'The Leopardess'?"
"I shall leave him to tell you that. Good-night."
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