The Price She Paid [129]
greeting, one would have thought they had seen each other but a few minutes before or were casual acquaintances. Said she:
``I'm going for a walk.''
``Let's take the taxi,'' said he.
There it stood invitingly at the curb. She felt tired. She disliked walking. She wished to sit beside him and be whirled away--out of the noisy part of the city, up where the air was clean and where there were no crowds. But she had begun the regimen of Lucia Rivi. She hesitated. What matter if she began now or put off beginning until after this one last drive?
``No, we will walk,'' said she.
``But the streets are in frightful condition.''
She thrust out a foot covered with a new and shiny storm-rubber.
``Let's drive to the park then. We'll walk there.''
``No. If I get into the taxi, I'll not get out. Send it away.''
When they were moving afoot up Madison Avenue, he said: ``What's the matter? This isn't like you.''
``I've come to my senses,'' replied she. ``It may be too late, but I'm going to see.''
``When I called on Mrs. Brindley the other day,'' said he, ``she had your note, saying that you were going into musical comedy with Crossley.''
``That's over,'' said she. ``I lost my voice, and I lost my job.''
``So I heard,'' said he. ``I know Crossley. I dropped in to see him this morning, and he told me about a foolish, fashionable girl who made a bluff at going on the stage--he said she had a good voice and was a swell looker, but proved to be a regular `four- flusher.' I recognized you.''
``Thanks,'' said she dryly.
``So, I came to see you.''
She inquired about Mrs. Brindley and then about Stanley Baird. Finding that he was in Italy, she inquired: ``Do you happen to know his address?''
``I'll get it and send it to you. He has taken a house at Monte Carlo for the winter.''
``And you?''
``I shall stay here--I think.''
``You may join him?''
``It depends''--he looked at her--``upon you.''
He could put a wonderful amount of meaning into a slight inflection. She struggled--not in vain--to keep from changing expression.
``You realize now that the career is quite hopeless?'' said he.
She did not answer.
``You do not like the stage life?''
``No.''
``And the stage life does not like you?''
``No.''
``Your voice lacks both strength and stability?''
``Yes.''
``And you have found the one way by which you could get on--and you don't like it?''
``Crossley told you?'' said she, the color flaring.
``Your name was not mentioned. You may not believe it, but Crossley is a gentleman.''
She walked on in silence.
``I did not expect your failure to come so soon--or in quite that way,'' he went on. ``I got Mrs. Brindley to exact a promise from you that you'd let her know about yourself. I called on Mrs. Belloc one day when you were out, and gave her my confidence and got hers --and assured myself that you were in good hands. Crossley's tale gave me--a shock. I came at once.''
``Then you didn't abandon me to my fate, as I thought?''
He smiled in his strange way. ``I?--when I loved you? Hardly.''
``Then you did interest yourself in me because you cared--precisely as I said,'' laughed she.
``And I should have given you up if you had succeeded--precisely as I said,'' replied he.
``You wished me to fail?''
``I wished you to fail. I did everything I could to help you to succeed. I even left you absolutely alone, set you in the right way--the only way in which anyone can win success.''
``Yes, you made me throw away the crutches and try to walk.''
``It was hard to do that. Those strains are very wearing at my time of life.''
``You never were any younger, and you'll never be any older,'' laughed she. ``That's your charm--one of them.''
``Mildred, do you still care?''
``How did you know?'' inquired she mockingly.
``You didn't try to conceal it. I'd not have ventured to say and do the things I said and did if I hadn't felt that we cared for each other. But, so long as you were leading that fatuous life and dreaming
``I'm going for a walk.''
``Let's take the taxi,'' said he.
There it stood invitingly at the curb. She felt tired. She disliked walking. She wished to sit beside him and be whirled away--out of the noisy part of the city, up where the air was clean and where there were no crowds. But she had begun the regimen of Lucia Rivi. She hesitated. What matter if she began now or put off beginning until after this one last drive?
``No, we will walk,'' said she.
``But the streets are in frightful condition.''
She thrust out a foot covered with a new and shiny storm-rubber.
``Let's drive to the park then. We'll walk there.''
``No. If I get into the taxi, I'll not get out. Send it away.''
When they were moving afoot up Madison Avenue, he said: ``What's the matter? This isn't like you.''
``I've come to my senses,'' replied she. ``It may be too late, but I'm going to see.''
``When I called on Mrs. Brindley the other day,'' said he, ``she had your note, saying that you were going into musical comedy with Crossley.''
``That's over,'' said she. ``I lost my voice, and I lost my job.''
``So I heard,'' said he. ``I know Crossley. I dropped in to see him this morning, and he told me about a foolish, fashionable girl who made a bluff at going on the stage--he said she had a good voice and was a swell looker, but proved to be a regular `four- flusher.' I recognized you.''
``Thanks,'' said she dryly.
``So, I came to see you.''
She inquired about Mrs. Brindley and then about Stanley Baird. Finding that he was in Italy, she inquired: ``Do you happen to know his address?''
``I'll get it and send it to you. He has taken a house at Monte Carlo for the winter.''
``And you?''
``I shall stay here--I think.''
``You may join him?''
``It depends''--he looked at her--``upon you.''
He could put a wonderful amount of meaning into a slight inflection. She struggled--not in vain--to keep from changing expression.
``You realize now that the career is quite hopeless?'' said he.
She did not answer.
``You do not like the stage life?''
``No.''
``And the stage life does not like you?''
``No.''
``Your voice lacks both strength and stability?''
``Yes.''
``And you have found the one way by which you could get on--and you don't like it?''
``Crossley told you?'' said she, the color flaring.
``Your name was not mentioned. You may not believe it, but Crossley is a gentleman.''
She walked on in silence.
``I did not expect your failure to come so soon--or in quite that way,'' he went on. ``I got Mrs. Brindley to exact a promise from you that you'd let her know about yourself. I called on Mrs. Belloc one day when you were out, and gave her my confidence and got hers --and assured myself that you were in good hands. Crossley's tale gave me--a shock. I came at once.''
``Then you didn't abandon me to my fate, as I thought?''
He smiled in his strange way. ``I?--when I loved you? Hardly.''
``Then you did interest yourself in me because you cared--precisely as I said,'' laughed she.
``And I should have given you up if you had succeeded--precisely as I said,'' replied he.
``You wished me to fail?''
``I wished you to fail. I did everything I could to help you to succeed. I even left you absolutely alone, set you in the right way--the only way in which anyone can win success.''
``Yes, you made me throw away the crutches and try to walk.''
``It was hard to do that. Those strains are very wearing at my time of life.''
``You never were any younger, and you'll never be any older,'' laughed she. ``That's your charm--one of them.''
``Mildred, do you still care?''
``How did you know?'' inquired she mockingly.
``You didn't try to conceal it. I'd not have ventured to say and do the things I said and did if I hadn't felt that we cared for each other. But, so long as you were leading that fatuous life and dreaming