XXIX. A HOUSEWARMING
Joe's daughter, staying on and on at Dawn Hill, was chief lieutenant, ifnot principal, in my conspiracy to drift Anita day by day further andfurther into the routine of the new life. Yet neither of us had shown byword or look that a thorough understanding existed between us. My part wasto be unobtrusive, friendly, neither indifferent nor eager, and I held toit by taking care never to be left alone with Anita; Alva's part was tobe herself--simple and natural and sensible, full of life and laughter,mocking at those moods that betray us into the absurdity of takingourselves too seriously.
I was getting ready a new house in town as a surprise to Anita, and I tookAlva into my plot. "I wish Anita's part of the house to be exactly to herliking," said I. "Can't you set her to dreaming aloud what kind of placeshe would like to live in, what she would like to open her eyes on in themorning, what surroundings she'd like to dress in and read in, and allthat?"
Alva had no difficulty in carrying out the suggestions. And by harassingWestlake incessantly, I succeeded in realizing her report of Anita's dreamto the exact shade of the draperies and the silk that covered the walls. Bypushing the work, I got the house done just as Alva was warning me that shecould not remain longer at Dawn Hill, but must go home and get ready forher wedding. When I went down to arrange with her the last details of thesurprise, who should meet me at the station but Anita herself? I took oneglance at her serious face and, much disquieted, seated myself beside herin the little trap. Instead of following the usual route to the house, sheturned her horse into the bay-shore road.
"Several days ago," she began, as the bend hid the station, "I got a letterfrom some lawyers, saying that an uncle of mine had given me a large sumof money--a very large sum. I have been inquiring about it, and find it ismine absolutely."
I braced myself against the worst. "She is about to tell me that she isleaving," thought I. But I managed to say: "I'm glad to hear of your luck,"though I fear my tone was not especially joyous.
"So," she went on, "I am in a position to pay back to you, I think, what myfather and Sam took from you. It won't be enough, I'm afraid, to pay whatyou lost indirectly. But I have told the lawyers to make it all over toyou."
I could have laughed aloud. It was too ridiculous, this situation intowhich I had got myself. I did not know what to say. I could hardly keepout of my face how foolish this collapse of my crafty conspiracy made mefeel. And then the full meaning of what she was doing came over me--therevelation of her character. I trusted myself to steal a glance at her; andfor the first time I didn't see the thrilling azure sheen over her smoothwhite skin, though all her beauty was before me, as dazzling as when itcompelled me to resolve to win her. No; I saw her, herself--the womanwithin. I had known from the outset that there was an altar of love withinmy temple of passion. I think that was my first real visit to it.
"Anita!" I said unsteadily. "Anita!"
The color flamed in her cheeks; we were silent for a long time.
"You--your people owe me nothing" I at length found voice to say. "Even ifthey did, I couldn't and wouldn't take _your_ money. But, believe me,they owe me nothing."
"You can not mislead me," she answered. "When they asked me to becomeengaged to you, they told me about it."
I had forgotten. The whole repulsive, rotten business came back to me. And,changed man that I had become in the last six months, I saw myself as I hadbeen. I felt that she was looking at me, was reading the degradingconfession in my telltale features.
"I will tell you the whole truth," said I. "I did use your father's andyour brother's debts to me as a means of getting _to_ you. But, beforeGod, Anita, I swear I was honest with you when I said to you I never hopedor wished to win you in that way!"
"I believe you," she replied, and her tone and expression made my heartleap with indescribable joy.
Love is sometimes most unwise in his use of the reins he puts on passion.Instead of acting as impulse commanded, I said clumsily, "And I am verydifferent to-day from what I was last spring." It never occurred to me howshe might interpret those words.
"I know," she replied. She waited several seconds before adding: "I, too,have changed. I see that I was far more guilty than you. There is no excusefor me. I was badly brought up, as you used to say, but--"
"No--no," I began to protest.
She cut me short with a sad: "You need not be polite and spare my feelings.Let's not talk of it. Let us go back to the object I had in coming for youto-day."
"You owe me nothing," I repeated. "Your brother and your father settledlong ago. I lost nothing through them. And I've learned that if I had neverknown you, Roebuck and Langdon would still have attacked me."
"What my uncle gave me has been transferred to you," said she, womanfashion, not hearing what she did not care to heed. "I can't make youaccept it; but there it is, and there it stays."
"I can not take it," said I. "If you insist on leaving it in my name, Ishall simply return it to your uncle."
"I wrote him what I had done," she rejoined. "His answer came yesterday. Heapproves it."
"Approves it!" I exclaimed.
"You do not know how eccentric he is," she explained, naturallymisunderstanding my astonishment. She took a letter from her bosom andhanded it to me. I read:
"DEAR MADAM: It was yours to do with as you pleased. If you ever findyourself in the mood to visit, Gull House is open to you, provided youbring no maid. I will not have female servants about.
"Yours truly,
"HOWARD FORRESTER."
"You will consent now, will you not?" she asked, as I lifted my eyes fromthis characteristic note.
I saw that her peace of mind was at stake. "Yes--I consent."
She gave a great sigh as at the laying down of a heavy burden. "Thank you,"was all she said, but she put a world of meaning into the words. She tookthe first homeward turning. We were nearly at the house before I foundwords that would pave the way toward expressing my thoughts--my longingsand hopes.
"You say you have forgiven me," said I. "Then we can be--friends?"
She was silent, and I took her somber expression to mean that she feared Iwas hiding some subtlety.
"I mean just what I say, Anita," I hastened to explain. "Friends--simplyfriends." And my manner fitted my words.
She looked strangely at me. "You would be content with that?" she asked.
I answered what I thought would please her. "Let us make the best of ourbad bargain," said I. "You can trust me now, don't you think you can?"
She nodded without speaking; we were at the door, and the servants werehastening out to receive us. Always the servants between us. Servantsindoors, servants outdoors; morning, noon and night, from waking tosleeping, these servants to whom we are slaves. As those interruptingservants sent us each a separate way, her to her maid, me to my valet, Iwas depressed with the chill that the opportunity that has not been seenleaves behind it as it departs.
"Well," said I to myself by way of consolation, as I was dressing fordinner, "she is certainly softening toward you, and when she sees the newhouse you will be still better friends."
* * * * *
But, when the great day came, I was not so sure. Alva went for a "privateview" with young Thornley; out of her enthusiasm she telephoned me from thevery midst of the surroundings she found "_so_ wonderful and _so_beautiful"--thus she assured me, and her voice made it impossible to doubt.And, the evening before the great day, I, going for a final look round,could find no flaw serious enough to justify the sinking feeling that cameover me every time I thought of what Anita would think when she saw myefforts to realize her dream. I set out for "home" half a dozen times atleast, that afternoon, before I pulled myself together, called myself anass, and, with a pause at Delmonico's for a drink, which I ordered and thenrejected, finally pushed myself in at the door. What, a state my nerveswere in!
Alva had departed; Anita was waiting for me in her sitting-room. When sheheard me in the hall, just
outside, she stood in the doorway. "Come in,"she said to me, who did not dare so much as a glance at her.
I entered. I must have looked as I felt--like a boy, summoned beforethe teacher to be whipped in presence of the entire school. Then I wasconscious that she had my hand--how she had got it, I don't know--and thatshe was murmuring, with tears of happiness in her voice: "Oh, I can't_say_ it!"
"Glad you like your own taste," said I awkwardly. "You know, Alva told me."
"But it's one thing to dream, and a very different thing to do," sheanswered. Then, with smiling reproach: "And I've been thinking all summerthat you were ruined! I've been expecting to hear every day that you hadhad to give up the fight."
"Oh--that passed long ago," said I.
"But you never told me," she reminded me. "And I'm glad you didn't,"she added. "Not knowing saved me from doing something very foolish."She reddened a little, smiled a great deal, dazzlingly, was altogetherdifferent from the ice-locked Anita of a short time before, different asJune from January. And her hand--so intensely alive--seemed extremelycomfortable in mine.
Even as my blood responded to that electric touch, I had a twinge ofcynical bitterness. Yes, apparently I was at last getting what I had solong, so vainly, and, latterly, so hopelessly craved. But--_why_ wasshe giving it? Why had she withheld herself until this moment of materialhappiness? "I have to pay the rich man's price," thought I, with a sigh.
It was in reaching out for some sweetness to take away this bitter taste inmy honey that I said to her, "When you gave me that money from your uncle,you did it to help me out?"
She colored deeply. "How silly you must have thought me!" she answered.
I took her other hand. As I was drawing her toward me, the sudden pallor ofher face and chill of her hands halted me once more, brought sickeninglybefore me the early days of my courtship when she had infuriated my prideby trying to be "submissive." I looked round the room--that room into whichI had put so much thought--and money. Money! "The rich man's price!" thosedelicately brocaded walls shimmered mockingly at me.
"Anita," said I, "do you _care_ for me?"
She murmured inaudibly. Evasion! thought I, and suspicion sprang on guard,bristling.
"Anita," I repeated sternly, "do you care for _me_?"
"I am your wife," she replied, her head drooping still lower. Andhesitatingly she drew away from me. That seemed confirmation of my doubtand I said to her satirically, "You are willing to be my wife out ofgratitude, to put it politely?"
She looked straight into my eyes and answered, "I can only say there is noone I like so well, and--I will give you all I have to give."
"Like!" I exclaimed contemptuously, my nerves giving way altogether. "Andyou would be my _wife_! Do you want me to _despise_ you?" Istruck dead my poor, feeble hope that had been all but still-born. I rushedfrom the room, closing the door violently between us.
Such was our housewarming.
The Deluge Page 29
