An American Tragedy - Theodore Dreiser [401]
This was really cross-examination—an attack on his own witness. Yet Jephson was within his rights and Mason did not interfere.
“Well …” and here Clyde hesitated and stumbled, quite as if he had not been instructed as to all this beforehand, and seemed to and did truly finger about in his own mind or reason for some thought that would help him to explain all this. For although it was true that he had memorized the answer, now that he was confronted by the actual question here in court, as well as the old problem that had so confused and troubled him in Lycurgus, he could scarcely think clearly of all he had been told to say, but instead twisted and turned, and finally came out with:
“The fact is, I didn’t think about those things at all very much. I couldn’t after I saw her. I tried to at times, but I couldn’t. I only wanted her and I didn’t want Miss Alden any more. I knew I wasn’t doing right—exactly—and I felt sorry for Roberta—but just the same I didn’t seem able to do anything much about it. I could only think of Miss X and I couldn’t think of Roberta as I had before no matter how hard I tried.”
“Do you mean to say that you didn’t suffer in your own conscience on account of this?”
“Yes, sir, I suffered,” replied Clyde. “I knew I wasn’t doing right, and it made me worry a lot about her and myself, but just the same I didn’t seem to be able to do any better.” (He was repeating words that Jephson had written out for him, although at the time he first read them he felt them to be fairly true. He had suffered some.)
“And then?”
“Well, then she began to complain because I didn’t go round to see her as much as before.”
“In other words, you began to neglect her.”
“Yes, sir, some—but not entirely—no, sir.”
“Well, when you found you were so infatuated with this Miss X, what did you do? Did you go and tell Miss Alden that you were no longer in love with her but in love with some one else?”
“No, I didn’t. Not then.”
“Why not then? Did you think it fair and honorable to be telling two girls at once that you cared for them?”
“No, sir, but it wasn’t quite like that either. You see at that time I was just getting acquainted with Miss X, and I wasn’t telling her anything. She wouldn’t let me. But I knew then, just the same, that I couldn’t care for Miss Alden any more.”
“But what about the claim Miss Alden had on you? Didn’t you feel that that was enough or should be, to prevent you from running after another girl?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, why did you then?”
“I couldn’t resist her.”
“Miss X, you mean?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And so you continued to run after her until you had made her care for you?”
“No, sir, that wasn’t the way at all.”
“Well then, what was the way?”
“I just met her here and there and got crazy about her.”
“I see. But still you didn’t go and tell Miss Alden that you couldn’t care for her any longer?”
“No, sir. Not then.”
“And why not?”
“Because I thought it would hurt her, and I didn’t want to do that.”
“Oh, I see. You didn’t have the moral or mental courage to do it then?”
“I don’t know about the moral or mental courage,” replied Clyde, a little hurt and irritated by this description of himself, “but I felt sorry for her just the same. She used to cry and I didn’t have the heart to tell her anything.”
“I see. Well, let it stand that way, if you want to. But now answer me one other thing. That relationship between you two—what about that—after you knew that you didn’t care for her any more. Did that continue?”
“Well, no, sir, not so very long, anyhow,” replied Clyde, most nervously and shamefacedly. He was thinking of