Works of Robert W Chambers

by Robert W. Chambers

  He said, reddening with surprise and pleasure: “It’s very sweet of you. I — had no idea you’d offer to do such a thing — —”

  “Why shouldn’t I? Besides, I’d rather be where you are than anywhere else.”

  “With me, Jacqueline?”

  “Are you really surprised to hear me admit it?”

  “A little.”

  “Why, if you please?”

  “Because you never before have been demonstrative, even in speech.”

  She blushed: “Not as demonstrative as you are. But you know that I might learn to be.”

  He looked at her curiously, but with more or less self-control.

  “Do you really care for me that way, Jacqueline?”

  “I know of no way in which I don’t care for you,” she said quickly.

  “Does your caring for me amount to — love?” he asked deliberately.

  “I — think so — yes.”

  The emotion in his face was now palely reflected in hers; their voices were no longer quite steady under the sudden strain of self-repression.

  “Say it, Jacqueline, if it is true,” he whispered. His face was tense and white, but not as pale as hers. “Say it!” he whispered again.

  “I can’t — in words. But it is true — what you asked me.”

  “That you love me?”

  “Yes. I thought you knew it long ago.”

  They stood very still, facing each other, breathing more rapidly. Her fate was upon her, and she knew it.

  Captain Herrendene, who had waited, watched them for a moment more, then, lighting a cigarette, sauntered on carelessly, swinging his hockey-stick in circles.

  Desboro said in a low, distinct voice, and without a tremor: “I am more in love with you than ever, Jacqueline. But that is as much as I shall ever say to you — nothing more than that.”

  “I know it.”

  “Yes, I know you do. Shall I leave you in peace? It can still be done. Or — shall I tell you again that I love you?”

  “Yes — if you wish, tell me — that.”

  “Is love enough for you, Jacqueline?”

  “Ask yourself, Jim. With what you give I must be content — or starve.”

  “Do you realise — what it means for us?” He could scarcely speak now.

  “Yes — I know.” She turned and looked back. Herrendene was now a long way off, walking slowly and alone. Then she turned once more to Desboro, absently, as though absorbed in her own reflections. Herrendene had asked her to marry him that morning. She was thinking of it now.

  Then, in her remote gaze the brief dream faded, her eyes cleared, and she looked up at the silent man beside her.

  “Shall I remain here with you?” she asked.

  He made an effort to speak, but his voice was no longer under command. She waited, watching him; then they both turned and slowly entered the house together. Her hand had fallen into his, and when they reached the library he lifted it to his lips and noticed that her fingers were trembling. He laid his other hand over them, as though to quiet the tremor; and looked into her face and saw how colourless it had become.

  “My darling!” But the time had not yet come when he could tolerate his own words; contempt for them choked him for a moment, and he only took her into his arms in silence.

  She strove to think, to speak, to master her emotion; but for a moment his mounting passion subdued her and she remained silent, quivering in his embrace.

  Then, with an effort, she found her voice and loosened his arms.

  “Listen,” she whispered. “You must listen. I know what you are — how you love me. But you are wrong! If I could only make you see it! If you would not think me selfish, self-seeking — believe unworthy motives of me — —”

  “What do you mean?” he asked, suddenly chilled.

  “I mean that I am worth more to you than — than to be — what you wish me to be to you. You won’t misunderstand, will you? I am not bargaining, not begging, not trading. I love you! I couldn’t bargain; I could only take your terms — or leave them. And I have not decided. But — may I say something — for your sake more than for my own?”

  “Yes,” he said, coolly.

  “Then — for your sake — far more than for mine — if you do really love me — make more of me than you have thought of doing! I know I shall be worth it to you. Could you consider it?”

  After a terrible silence, he said: “I can — get out of your life — dog that I am! I can leave you in peace. And that is all.”

  “If that is all you can do — don’t leave me — in peace. I — I will take the chances of remaining — honest — —”

  The hint of fear in her eyes and in her voice startled him.

  “There is a martyrdom,” she said, “which I might not be able to endure forever. I don’t know. I shall never love another man. And all my life I have wanted love. It is here; and I may not be brave enough to deny it and live my life out in ignorance of it. But, Jim, if you only could understand — if you only knew what I can be to you — to the world for your sake — what I can become merely because I love you — what I am capable of for the sake of your pride in — in me — and — —” She turned very white. “Because it is better for your sake, Jim. I am not thinking of myself, and how wonderful it would be for me — truly I am not. Don’t you believe me? Only — there is so much to me — I am really so much of a woman — that it would begin to trouble you if ever I became anything — anything less than your — wife. And you would feel sorry for me — and I couldn’t truthfully console you because all the while I’d know in my heart what you had thrown away that might have belonged to us both.”

  “Your life?” he said, with dry lips.

  “Oh, Jim! I mean more than your life and mine! For our lives — yours and mine — would not be all you would throw away and deny. Before we die we would want children. Ought I not to say it?” She turned away, blind with tears, and dropped onto the sofa. “I’m wondering if I’m in my right mind,” she sobbed, “for yesterday I did not even dare think of these things I am saying to you now! But — somehow — even while Captain Herrendene was speaking — it all flashed into my mind. I don’t know how I knew it, but I suddenly understood that you belonged to me — just as you are, Jim — all the good, all the evil in you — everything — even your intentions toward me — how you may deal with me — all, all belonged to me! And so I went back to you, to help you. And now I have said this thing — for your sake alone, not for my own — only so that in years to come you may not have me on your conscience. For if you do not marry me — and I let myself really love you — you will wish that the beginning was to be begun again, and that we had loved each other — otherwise.”

  He came over and stood looking down at her for a moment. His lips were twitching.

  “Would you marry me now,” he managed to say, “now, after you know what a contemptible cad I am?”

  “You are only a man. I love you, Jim. I will marry you — if you’ll let me — —”

  Suddenly she covered her eyes with her hands. He seated himself beside her, sick with self-contempt, dumb, not daring to touch her where she crouched, trembling in every limb.

  For a long while they remained so, in utter silence; then the doorbell startled them. Jacqueline fled to her room; Desboro composed himself with a desperate effort and went out into the hall.

  He welcomed his guests on the steps when Farris opened the door, outwardly master of himself once more.

  “We came over early, Jim,” explained Daisy, “because Uncle John is giving a dinner and father and mother need the car. Do you mind?”

  He laughed and shook hands with her and Elena, who looked intently and unsmilingly into his face, and then let her expressionless glance linger for a moment on her husband, who was holding out a huge hand to Desboro.

  “I’m glad to see you, Clydesdale,” said Desboro pleasantly, and took that bulky gentleman’s outstretched hand, who mumbled something incoherent; but the fixe
d grin remained. And that was the discomforting — yes, the dismaying — characteristic of the man — his grin never seemed to be affected by his emotions.

  Mrs. Quant bobbed away upstairs, piloting Daisy and Elena. Clydesdale followed Desboro to the library — the same room where he had discovered his wife that evening, and had learned in what esteem she held the law that bound her to him. Both men thought of it now — could not avoid remembering it. Also, by accident, they were seated very nearly as they had been seated that night, Clydesdale filling the armchair with his massive figure, Desboro sitting on the edge of the table, one foot resting on the floor.

  Farris brought whiskey; both men shook their heads.

  “Will you have a cigar, Clydesdale?” asked the younger man.

  “Thanks.”

  They smoked in silence for a few moments, then:

  “I’m glad you came,” said Desboro simply.

  “Yes. Men don’t usually raise that sort of hell with each other unless a woman starts it.”

  “Don’t talk that way about your wife,” said Desboro sharply.

  “See here, young man, I have no illusions concerning my wife. What happened here was her doing, not yours. I knew it at the time — if I didn’t admit it. You behaved well — and you’ve behaved well ever since — only it hurt me too much to tell you so before to-day.”

  “That’s all right, Clydesdale — —”

  “Yes, it is going to be all right now, I guess.” A curious expression flitted across his red features, softening the grin for a moment. “I always liked you, Desboro; and Elena and I were staying with the Hammertons, so she told that Daisy girl to ask you to invite us. That’s all there is to it.”

  “Good business!” said Desboro, smiling. “I’m glad it’s all clear between us.”

  “Yes, it’s clear sailing now, I guess.” Again the curiously softening expression made his heavy red features almost attractive, and he remained silent for a while, occupied with thoughts that seemed to be pleasant ones.

  Then, abruptly emerging from his revery, he grinned at Desboro:

  “So Mrs. Hammerton has our pretty friend Miss Nevers in tow,” he said. “Fine girl, Desboro. She’s been at my collection, you know, fixing it up for the hammer.”

  “So you are really going to sell?” inquired Desboro.

  “I don’t know. I was going to. But I’m taking a new interest in my hobby since — —” he reddened, then added very simply, “since Elena and I have been getting on better together.”

  “Sure,” nodded Desboro, gravely understanding him.

  “Yes — it’s about like that, Desboro. Things were rotten bad up to that night. And afterward, too, for a while. They’re clearing up a little better, I think. We’re going to get on together, I believe. I don’t know much about women; never liked ’em much — except Elena. It’s funny about Miss Nevers, isn’t it?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Mrs. Hammerton’s being so crazy about her. She’s a good girl, and a pretty one. Elena is wild to meet her.”

  “Didn’t your wife ever meet her at your house?” asked Desboro dryly.

  “When she was there appraising my jim-cracks? No. Elena has no use for my gallery or anybody who goes into it. Besides, until this morning she didn’t even know that Miss Nevers was the same expert you employed. Now she wants to meet her.”

  Desboro slowly raised his eyes and looked at Clydesdale. The unvaried grin baffled him, and presently he glanced elsewhere.

  Clydesdale, smoking, slowly crossed one ponderous leg over the other. Desboro continued to gaze out of the window. Neither spoke again until Daisy Hammerton came in with Elena. If the young wife remembered the somewhat lurid circumstances of her last appearance in that room, her animated and smiling face betrayed no indication of embarrassment.

  “When is that gay company of yours going to return, Jim?” she demanded. “I am devoured by curiosity to meet this beautiful Miss Nevers. Fancy her coming to my house half a dozen times this winter and I never suspecting that my husband’s porcelain gallery concealed such a combination of genius and beauty! I could have bitten somebody’s head off in vexation,” she rattled on, “when I found out who she was. So I made Daisy ask you to invite us to meet her. Is she so unusually wonderful, Jim?”

  “I believe so,” he said drily.

  “They say every man who meets her falls in love with her immediately — and that most of the women do, too,” appealing to Daisy, who nodded smiling corroboration.

  “She is very lovely and very clever, Elena. I think I never saw anything more charming than that rainbow dance she did for us last night in Chinese costume,” turning to Desboro, “‘The Rainbow Skirt,’ I think it is called?”

  “A dance some centuries old,” said Desboro, and let his careless glance rest on Elena for a moment.

  “She looked,” said Daisy, “like some exquisite Chinese figure made of rose-quartz, crystal and green jade.”

  “Jade?” said Clydesdale, immediately interested. “That girl knows jades, I can tell you. By gad! The first thing she did when she walked into my gallery was to saw into a few glass ones with a file; and good-night to about a thousand dollars in Japanese phony!”

  “That was pleasant,” said Desboro, laughing.

  “Wasn’t it! And my rose-quartz Fêng-huang! The Chia-Ching period of the Ming dynasty! Do you get me, Desboro? It was Jap!”

  “Really?”

  Clydesdale brought down his huge fist with a thump on the table:

  “I wouldn’t believe it! I told Miss Nevers she didn’t know her business! I asked her to consider the fact that the crystallisation was rhombohedral, the prisms six-sided, hardness 7, specific gravity 2.6, no trace of cleavage, immune to the three acids or the blow-pipe alone, and reacted with soda in the flame. I thought I knew it all, you see. First she called my attention to the colour. ‘Sure,’ I said, ‘it’s a little faded; but rose-quartz fades when exposed to light!’ ‘Yes,’ said she, ‘but moisture restores it.’ So we tried it. Nix doing! Only a faint rusty stain becoming visible and infecting that delicious rose colour. ‘Help!’ said I. ‘What the devil is it?’ ‘Jap funny business,’ said she. ‘Your rose-quartz phoenix of the Ming dynasty is common yellow crystal carved in Japan and dyed that beautiful rose tint with something, the composition of which my chemist is investigating!’ Wasn’t it horrible, Desboro?”

  Daisy’s brown eyes were very wide open, and she exclaimed softly:

  “What a beautiful knowledge she has of a beautiful profession!” And to Desboro: “Can you imagine anything in the world more fascinating than to use such knowledge? And how in the world did she acquire it? She is so very young to know so much!”

  “Her father began her training as a child,” said Desboro. There was a slight burning sensation in his face, and a hotter pride within him. After a second or two he felt Elena’s gaze; but did not choose to encounter it at the moment, and was turning to speak to Daisy Hammerton when Jacqueline entered the library.

  Clydesdale lumbered to his feet and tramped over to shake hands with her; Daisy greeted her cordially; she and Elena were presented, and stood smiling at each other for a second’s silence. Then Mrs. Clydesdale moved a single step forward, and Jacqueline crossed to her and offered her hand, looking straight into her eyes so frankly and intently that Elena’s colour rose and for once in her life her tongue remained silent.

  “Your husband and I are already business acquaintances,” said Jacqueline. “I know your very beautiful gallery, too, and have had the privilege of identifying and classifying many of the jades and porcelains.”

  Elena’s eyes were level and cool as she said: “If I had known who you were I would have received you myself. You must not think me rude. Mr. Desboro’s unnecessary reticence concerning you is to blame; not I.”

  Jacqueline’s smile became mechanical: “Mr. Desboro’s reticence concerning a business acquaintance was very natural. A busy woman neither expects nor even thinks about social
amenities under business circumstances.”

  “‘Business is kinder to men than women sometimes believe’”

  Elena’s flush deepened: “Business is kinder to men than women sometimes believe — if it permits acquaintance with such delightful people as yourself.”

  Jacqueline said calmly: “All business has its compensations,” — she smiled and made a friendly little salute with her head to Clydesdale and Desboro,— “as you will witness for me. And I am employed by other clients who also are considerate and kind. So you see the woman who works has scarcely any time to suffer from social isolation.”

  Daisy said lightly: “Nobody who is happily employed worries over social matters. Intelligence and sweet temper bring more friends than a busy girl knows what to do with. Isn’t that so, Miss Nevers?”

  Jacqueline turned to Elena with a little laugh: “It’s an axiom that nobody can have too many friends. I want all I can have, Mrs. Clydesdale, and am most grateful when people like me.”

  “And when they don’t,” asked Elena, smiling, “what do you do then, Miss Nevers?”

  “What is there to do, Mrs. Clydesdale?” she said gaily. “What would you do about it?”

  But Elena seemed not to have heard her, for she was already turning to Desboro, flushed, almost feverish in her animation:

  “So many things have happened since I saw you, Jim — —” she hesitated, then added daringly, “at the opera. Do you remember Ariane?”

  “I think you were in the Barkley’s box,” he said coolly.

  “Your memory is marvellous! In point of fact, I was there. And since then so many, many things have happened that I’d like to compare notes with you — sometime.”

  “I’m quite ready now,” he said.

  “Do you think your daily record fit for public scrutiny, Jim?” she laughed.

  “I don’t mind sharing it with anybody here,” he retorted gaily, “if you have no objection.”

  His voice and hers, and their laughter seemed so perfectly frank that thrust and parry pa