“The name irritates me — you repeat it so often!”
“Does it, dear? The man irritates me, and that’s infinitely worse. I wish you knew!”
“But he’s awfully good to you, Charlie. You can’t deny that, at all events.”
“Yes — and he calls me Lottie,” answered Charlotte, with much disgust. “You know how I hate it. But if you are going to lecture me on my husband’s goodness — Kitty, I tell you frankly, I won’t stand it. I’ll say something to you that’ll make you — just frizzle up! Remember the soapy sponge of old, my child, and be nice to your sister. I came here hoping to see you. I want to talk seriously to you. At least — I’m not sure. I want to talk seriously to somebody, and you’re the most serious person I know.”
“More so than your husband?”
“He’s grave enough sometimes, but not generally. It’s almost always about his constituents. They are to him what the liver is to some people — only that they are beyond the reach of mineral waters. Besides — it’s about him that I want to talk. You look surprised, though I’m sure I don’t know why. I suppose — because I’ve never said anything before.”
“But I don’t even know what you’re going to say—”
Mrs. Slayback looked at her younger sister steadily for a moment, and then looked at the window. The rain was still falling fast and steadily; and the room had a dreary, dingy air about it as the afternoon advanced. It had been Charlotte’s before her marriage, and Katharine had moved into it since because it was better than her own. The elder girl had filled it with little worthless trifles which had brightened it to a certain extent; but Katharine cared little for that sort of thing, and was far more indifferent to the aspect of the place in which she lived. There were a couple of dark engravings of sacred subjects on the walls, — one over the narrow bed in the corner, and the other above the chest of drawers, and there was nothing more which could be said to be intended for ornament. Yet Charlotte Slayback’s hard face softened a little as her eyes wandered from the window to the familiar, faded wall paper and the old-fashioned furniture. The silence lasted some time. Then she turned to her sister again.
“ ‘Kitty — don’t do what I’ve done,’ she said earnestly.” — Vol. I., .
“Kitty — don’t do what I’ve done,” she said, earnestly.
She watched the girl’s face for a change of expression, but Katharine’s impassive features were not quick to express any small feeling beyond passing annoyance.
“Aren’t you happy, Charlie?” Katharine asked, gravely.
“Happy!”
The elder woman only repeated the single word, but it told her story plainly enough. She would have given much to have come back to the old room, dreary as it looked.
“I’m very sorry,” said Katharine, in a lower voice and beginning to understand. “Isn’t he kind to you?”
“Oh, it’s not that! He’s kind — in his way — it makes it worse — far worse,” she repeated, after a moment’s pause. “I hadn’t been much used to that sort of kindness before I was married, you know — except from mamma, and that was different — and to have it from—” She stopped.
Katharine had never seen her sister in this mood before. Charlotte was generally the last person to make confidences, or to complain softly of anything she did not like. Katharine thought she must be very much changed.
“You say you’re unhappy,” said the young girl. “But you don’t tell me why. Has there been any trouble — anything especial?”
“No. You don’t understand. How should you? We never did understand each other very well, you and I. I don’t know why I come to you with my troubles, either. You can’t help me. Nobody can — unless it were — a lawyer.”
“A lawyer?” Katharine was taken by surprise now, and her eyes showed it.
“Yes,” answered Charlotte, her voice growing cold and hard again. “People can be divorced for incompatibility of temper.”
“Charlotte!” The young girl started a little, and leaned forward, laying her hand upon her sister’s knee.
“Oh, yes! I mean it. I’m sorry to horrify you so, my dear, and I suppose papa would say that divorce was not a proper subject for conversation. Perhaps he’s right — but he’s not here to tell us so.”
“But, Charlie—” Katharine stopped short, unable to say the first word of the many that rushed to her lips.
“I know,” said Charlotte, paying no attention. “I know exactly what you’re going to say. You are going to argue the question, and tell me in the first place that I’m bad, and then that I’m mad, and then that I’m a mother, — and all sorts of things. I’ve thought of them all, my dear; and they’re very terrible, of course. But I’m quite willing to be them all at once, if I can only get my freedom again. I don’t expect much sympathy, and I don’t want any good advice — and I haven’t seen a lawyer yet. But I must talk — I must say it out — I must hear it! Kitty — I’m desperate! I never knew what it meant before.”
She rose suddenly from her seat, walked twice up and down the room, and then stood still before Katharine, and looked down into her face.
“Of course you can’t understand,” she said, as she had said before. “How should you?” She seemed to be waiting for an answer.
“I think I could, if you would tell me more about yourself,” Katharine replied. “I’m trying to understand. I’d help you if I knew how.”
“That’s impossible.” Mrs. Slayback seated herself again. “But it’s this. You must have wondered why I married him, didn’t you?”
“Well — not exactly. But it seemed to me — there were other men, if you meant to marry a man you didn’t love.”
“I don’t believe in love,” said Charlotte. “But I wanted to be married for many reasons — most of all, because I couldn’t bear the life here.”
“Yes — I know. You’re not like me. But why didn’t you choose somebody else? I can’t understand marrying without love; but it seems to me, as I said, that if one is going to do such a thing one had better make a careful choice.”
“I did. I chose my husband for many reasons. He is richer than any of the men who proposed to me, and that’s a great thing. And he’s very good-natured, and what they call ‘an able man.’ There were lots of good reasons. There were things I didn’t like, of course; but I thought I could make him change. I did — in little things. He never wears a green tie now, for instance—”
“As if such things could make a difference in life’s happiness!” cried Katharine, contemptuously.
“My dear — they do. But never mind that. I thought I could — what shall I say? — develop his latent social talent. And I have. In that way he’s changed a good deal. You’ve not seen him this year, have you? No, of course not. Well, he’s not the same man. But it’s in the big things. I thought I could manage him, by sheer force of superior will, and make him do just what I wanted — oh, I made such a mistake!”
“And because you’ve married a man whom you can’t order about like a servant, you want to be divorced,” said Katharine, coldly.
“I knew you couldn’t understand,” Charlotte answered, with unusual gentleness. “I suppose you won’t believe me if I tell you that I suffer all the time, and — very, very much.”
Katharine did not understand, but her sister’s tone told her plainly enough that there was real trouble of some sort.
“Charlie,” she said, “there’s something on your mind — something else. How can I know what it is, unless you tell me, dear?”
Mrs. Slayback turned her head away, and bit her lip, as though the kind words had touched her.
“It’s my pride,” she said suddenly and very quickly. “He hurts it so!”
“But how? Merely because he does things in his own way? He probably knows best — they all say he’s very clever in politics.”
“Clever! I should think so! He’s a great, rough, good-natured, ill-mannered — no, he’s not a brute. He’s painfully kind. But with that exterior
— there’s no other word. He has the quickness of a woman in some ways. I believe he can be anything he chooses.”
“But all you say is rather in his favour.”
“I know it is. I wish it were not. If I loved him — the mere idea is ridiculous! But if I did, I would trot by his side and carry the basket through life, like his poodle. But I don’t love him — and he expects me to do it all the same. I’m curled, and scented, and fed delicately, and put to sleep on a silk cushion, and have a beautiful new ribbon tied round my neck every morning, just like a poodle-dog — and I must trot quietly and carry the basket. That’s all I am in his life — it wasn’t exactly my dream,” she added bitterly.
“I see. And you thought that it was to be the other way, and that he was to trot beside you.”
“You put it honestly, at all events. Yes. I suppose I thought that. I did not expect this, anyhow — and I simply can’t bear it any longer! So long as there’s any question of social matters, of course, everything is left to me. He can’t leave a card himself, he won’t make visits — he won’t lift a finger, though he wants it all properly and perfectly done. Lottie must trot — with the card-basket. But if I venture to have an opinion about anything, I have no more influence over him than the furniture. I mustn’t say this, because it will be repeated that his wife said it; and I mustn’t say that, because those are not his political opinions; and I mustn’t say something else, because it might get back to Nevada and offend his constituents — and as for doing anything, it’s simply out of the question. When I’m bored to death with it all, he tells me that his constituents expect him to stay in Washington during the session, and he advises me to go away for a few days, and offers to draw me a cheque. He would probably give me a thousand dollars for my expenses if I wanted to stay a week with you. I don’t know whether he wants to seem magnificent, or whether he thinks I expect it, or if he really imagines that I should spend it. But it isn’t that I want, Kitty — it isn’t that! I didn’t marry for money, though it was very nice to have so much — it wasn’t for that, it really, really wasn’t! I suppose it’s absurd — perfectly wild — but I wanted to be somebody, to have some influence in the world, to have just a little of what people call real power. And I haven’t got it, and I can’t have it; and I’m nothing but his poodle-dog, and I’m perfectly miserable!”
Katharine could find nothing to say when her sister paused after her long speech. It was not easy for her to sympathize with any one so totally unlike herself, nor to understand the state of mind of a woman who wanted the sort of power which few women covet, who had practically given her life in exchange for the hope of it, and who had pitiably failed to obtain it. She stared out of the window at the falling rain, and it all seemed very dreary to her.
“It’s my pride!” exclaimed Charlotte, suddenly, after a pause. “I never knew what it meant before — and you never can. It’s intolerable to feel that I’m beaten at the very beginning of life. Can’t you understand that, at least?”
“Yes — but, Charlie dear, — it’s a long way from a bit of wounded pride to a divorce — isn’t it?”
“Yes,” answered Charlotte, disconsolately. “I suppose it is. But if you knew the horrible sensation! It grows worse and worse — and the less I can find fault with him for other things, the worse it seems to grow. And it’s quite useless to fight. You know I’m good at fighting, don’t you? I used to think I was, until I tried to fight my husband. My dear — I’m not in it with him!”
Katharine rose and turned her back, feeling that she could hardly control herself if she sat still. There was an incredible frivolity about her sister at certain moments which was almost revolting to the young girl.
“What is it?” asked Charlotte, observing her movement.
“Oh — nothing,” answered Katharine. “The shade isn’t quite up and it’s growing dark, that’s all.”
“I thought you were angry,” said Mrs. Slayback.
“I? Why should I be angry? What business is it of mine?” Katharine turned and faced her, having adjusted the shade to her liking. “Of course, if you must say that sort of thing, you had better say it to me than to any one else. It doesn’t sound well in the world — and it’s not pleasant to hear.”
“Why not?” asked Charlotte, her voice growing hard and cold again. “But that’s a foolish question. Well — I’ve had my talk out — and I feel better. One must sometimes, you know.” Her tone softened again, unexpectedly. “Don’t be too hard on me, Kitty dear — just because you’re a better woman than I am.” There was a tremor in her last words.
Katharine did not understand. She understood, however, and for the first time in her life, that a frivolous woman can suffer quite as much as a serious one — which is a truth not generally recognized. She put her arm round her sister’s neck very gently, and pressed the fair head to her bosom, as she stood beside her.
“I’m not better than you, Charlie — I’m different, that’s all. Poor dear! Of course you suffer!”
“Dear!” And Charlotte rubbed her smooth cheek affectionately against the rough grey woollen of her sister’s frock.
CHAPTER XIII.
THE RAIN CONTINUED to fall, and even if the weather had changed it would have been too late for Katharine to go and see Robert Lauderdale after her sister had left her. On the whole, she thought, it would probably have been a mistake to speak to him beforehand. She had felt a strong temptation to do so, but it had not been the part of wisdom. She waited for Ralston’s note.
At last it came. It was short and clear. He had, with great difficulty, found a clergyman who was willing to marry them, and who would perform the ceremony on the following morning at half-past nine o’clock. The clergyman had only consented on Ralston’s strong representations, and on the distinct understanding that there was to be no unnecessary secrecy after the fact, and that the couple should solemnly promise to inform their parents of what they had done at the earliest moment consistent with their welfare. Ralston had written out his very words in regard to that matter, for he liked them, and felt that Katharine should.
John had been fortunate in his search, for he had accidentally come upon a man whose own life had been marred by the opposition of a young girl’s family to her marriage with him. He himself had in consequence never married; the young girl had taken a husband and had been a most unhappy woman. He sympathized with Ralston, liked his face, and agreed to marry Ralston and Katharine immediately. His church lay in a distant part of the city, and he had nothing to do with society, and therefore nothing to fear from it. If trouble arose he was justified beforehand by the fact that no clergyman has an absolute right to refuse marriage to those who ask it, and by the thought that he was contributing to happiness of the kind which he himself had most desired, but which had been withheld from him under just such circumstances as those in which Ralston and Katharine were placed. The good man admired, too, the wisdom of the course they were taking. When he had said that he would consider the matter favourably, provided that there was no legal obstacle, Ralston had told him the whole truth, and had explained exactly what Katharine and he intended to do. Of course, he had to explain the relationship which existed between them and old Robert Lauderdale, and the clergyman, to Ralston’s considerable surprise, took Katharine’s view of the possibilities. He only insisted that the plan should be conscientiously carried out as soon as might be, and that Katharine should therefore go, in the course of the same day, and tell her story to Mr. Robert Lauderdale. Ralston made no difficulty about that, and agreed to be at the door of the clergyman’s house on the following morning at half-past nine. The latter would open the church himself. It was very improbable that any one should see them at that hour, and in that distant part of the city.
There is no necessity for entering upon a defence of the clergyman’s action in the affair. It was a case, not of right or wrong, nor of doing anything irregular, but possibly excusable. Theoretically, it was his duty to comply with Ralston’s request. In pra
ctice, it was a matter of judgment and of choice, since if he had flatly refused, as several others had done without so much as knowing the names of the parties, Ralston would certainly have found it out of the question to force his consent. He believed that he was doing right, he wished to do what was kind, and he knew that he was acting legally and that the law must support him. He ran the risk of offending his own congregation if the story got abroad, but he remembered his own youth and he cheerfully took that risk. He would not have done as much for any two who might have chanced to present themselves, however. But Ralston impressed him as a man of honour, a gentleman and very truthful, and there was just enough of socialistic tendency in the good man, as the pastor of a very poor congregation, to enjoy the idea that the rich man should be forced, as a matter of common decency, to do something for his less fortunate relation. With his own life and experience behind him, he could not possibly have seen things as Robert Lauderdale saw them.
So the matter was settled, and Katharine had Ralston’s note. He added that he would be in Clinton Place at half-past eight o’clock in the morning, on foot. They might be seen walking together at almost any hour, by right of cousinship, but to appear together in a carriage, especially at such an hour, was out of the question.
It would have been unlike her to hesitate now. She had made up her mind long before she had spoken to Ralston on Monday evening, and there was nothing new to her in the idea. But she could not help wondering about the future, as she had been doing when Charlotte Slayback had unexpectedly appeared in the afternoon. Meanwhile the evening was before her. She was going to a dinner-party of young people and afterwards to the dance at the Thirlwalls’, of which she had spoken to Ralston. He would be there, but would not be at the dinner, as she knew. At the latter there were to be two young married women who were to chaperon the young girls to the other house afterwards.
Complete Works of F Marion Crawford Page 673
