The Beauty and the Bolshevist
Page 10
CHAPTER III
As they drove back she revealed another plan to him--she was takinghim for a moment to see a friend of hers. He protested. He did notwant to see anyone but herself, but Crystal was firm. He must see thiswoman; she was their celebrated parlor Bolshevist. Ben hated parlorBolshevists. Did he know any? No. Well, then. Anyhow, Sophia wouldnever forgive her if she did not bring him. Sophia adored celebrities.Sophia who? Sophia Dawson. The name seemed dimly familiar to Ben, andthen he remembered. It was the name on the thousand-dollar check forthe strike sufferers that had come in the day before.
They drove up an avenue of little oaks to a formidable palace builtof gray stone, so smoothly faced that there was not a crevice in theimmense pale facade. Two men in knee-breeches opened the double doorsand they went in between golden grilles and rows of tall white lilies.They were led through a soundless hall, and up stairs so thicklycarpeted that the feet sank in as in new-fallen snow, and finally theywere ushered through a small painted door into a small painted room,which had been brought all the way from Sienna, and there they foundMrs. Dawson--a beautiful, worn, world-weary Mrs. Dawson, with onestreak of gray in the front of her dark hair, her tragic eyes, and herlong violet and black draperies--a perfect Sibyl.
Crystal did not treat her as a Sibyl, however. "Hullo, Sophie!" shesaid. "This is my brother-in-law's brother, Ben Moreton. He's crazy tomeet you. You'll like him. I can't stay because I'm dining somewhereor other, but he's not."
"Will he dine with me?" said Mrs. Dawson in a wonderful deep, slowvoice--"just stay on and dine with me alone?"
Ben began to say that he couldn't, but Crystal said yes, that he wouldbe delighted to, and that she would stop for him again about half pastnine, and that it was a wonderful plan, and then she went away.
Mrs. Dawson seemed to take it all as a matter of course. "Sit down,Mr. Moreton," she said. "I have a quarrel with you."
Ben could not help feeling a little disturbed by the way he had beeninjected into Mrs. Dawson's evening without her volition. He did notsit down.
"You know," he said, "there isn't any reason why you should have meto dine just because Crystal says so. I do want to thank you forthe check you sent in to us for the strike fund. It will do a lot ofgood."
"Oh, that," replied Mrs. Dawson. "They are fighting all our battlesfor us."
"It cheered us up in the office. I wanted to tell you, and now I thinkI'll go. I dare say you are dining out, anyhow--"
Her eyes flashed at him. "Dining out!" she exclaimed, as if thesuggestion insulted her. "You evidently don't know me. I never dineout. I have nothing in common with these people. I lead a very lonelylife. You do me a favor by staying. You and I could exchange ideas.There is no one in Newport whom I can talk to--reactionaries."
"Miss Cord is not exactly a reactionary," said Ben, sitting down.
Mrs. Dawson smiled. "Crystal is not a reactionary; Crystal is achild," she replied. "But what can you expect of WilliamCord's daughter? He is a dangerous and disintegratingforce--cold--cynical--he feels not the slightest public responsibilityfor his possessions." Mrs. Dawson laid her hand on her heart as ifit were weighted with all her jewels and footmen and palaces. "MostBourbons are cynical about human life, but he goes farther; he iscynical about his own wealth. And that brings me to my quarrel withyou, Mr. Moreton. How could you let your brother spend his beautifulvigorous youth as a parasite to Cord's vapid son? Was that consistentwith your beliefs?"
This attack on his consistency from a lady whose consistency seemedeven more flagrant amused Ben, but as he listened he was obliged toadmit that there was a great deal of good sense in what she had to sayabout David, whom she had met once or twice at the Cords'. Ben was toocandid and eager not to ask her before long the question that wasin his mind--how it was possible for a woman holding her views to beleading a life so opposed to them.
She was not at all offended, and even less at a loss for an answer."I am not a free agent, Mr. Moreton," she said. "Unhappily, before Ibegan to think at all, I had undertaken certain obligations. The lawallows a woman to dispose of everything but her property while she isstill a child. I married at eighteen."
It was a story not without interest and Mrs. Dawson told it well.There does not live a man who would not have been interested.
They dined, not in the great dining room downstairs, nor even in thepainted room from Sienna, but in a sort of loggia that opened from it,where, beyond the shaded lights, Ben could watch the moon rise out ofthe sea.
It was a perfect little meal, short, delicious, and quickly servedby three servants. He enjoyed it thoroughly, although he found hishostess a strangely confusing companion. He would make up his mindthat she was a sincere soul captured by her environment, when afreshly discovered jewel on her long fingers would shake his faith.And he would just decide that she was a melodramatic fraud, when shewould surprise him by her scholarly knowledge of social problems. Shehad read deeply, knew several languages, and had known many of theEuropean leaders. Such phrases as "Jaures wrote me ten days before hedied--" were frequent, but not too frequent, on her lips.
By the time Crystal stopped for him Ben had begun to feel like a childwho has lost his mother in a museum, or as Dante might have felt if hehad missed Virgil from his side. When he bade Mrs. Dawson good night,she asked him to come back.
"Come and spend September here," she said, as if it were a smallthing. "You can work all day if you like. I sha'n't disturb you, andyou need never see a soul. It will do you good."
He was touched by the invitation, but of course he refused it. Hetried to explain tactfully, but clearly, why it was that he couldn'tdo that sort of thing--that the editor of _Liberty_ did not take hisholiday at Newport.
She understood, and sighed. "Ah, yes," she said. "I'm like that man inmythology whom neither the sky nor the earth would receive. I'm verylonely, Mr. Moreton."
He found himself feeling sorry for her, as he followed a footmandownstairs, his feet sinking into the carpets at each step. Crystal inthe blue car was at the door. She was bareheaded and the wind had beenblowing her hair about.
"Well," she said, as he got in, "did you have a good time? I'm sureyou had a good dinner."
"Excellent, but confusing. I don't quite get your friend."
"You don't understand Sophia?" Crystal's tone expressed surprise. "Youmean her jewels and her footmen? Why, Ben, it's just like the fathersof this country who talked about all men being equal and yet werethemselves slaveholders. She sincerely believes those things in a way,and then it's such a splendid role to play, and she enjoys that;and then it teases Freddie Dawson. Freddie is rather sweet if he'sthoroughly unhappy, and this keeps him unhappy almost all the time.Did she ask you to stay? I meant her to."
"Yes, she did; but of course I couldn't."
"Oh, Ben, why not?"
This brought them once more to the discussion of the barrier. Thistime Ben felt he could make her see. He said that she must look at itthis way--that in a war you could not go and stay in enemy country,however friendly your personal relations might be. Well, as far as hewas concerned this was a war, a class war.
They were headed for the Ocean Drive, and Crystal rounded a sharp turnbefore she answered seriously:
"But I thought you didn't believe in war."
"I don't," he answered. "I hate it--I hate all violence. We--labor,I mean--didn't initiate this, but when men won't see, when they havepower and won't stop abusing it, there is only one way to make--"
"Why, Ben," said Crystal, "you're just a pacifist in other people'squarrels, but as militaristic as can be in your own. I'm not apacifist, but I'm a better one than you, because I don't believe inemphasizing any difference between human beings. That's why I wanta League of Nations. I hate gangs--all women really do. Little girlsdon't form gangs like little boys. Every settlement worker knows that.I won't have you say that I belong to the other group. I won't beclassified. I'm a human being--and I intend to behave as such."
Since she had left him she ha
d been immersed again in her oldlife--her old friends--and the result had been to make her wonder ifher experience with Ben had been as wonderful as it had seemed. Whenshe stopped for him she had been almost prepared to find that the wildjoy of their meetings had been something accidental and temporary, andthat only a stimulating and pleasant friendship was left. But as soonas she saw that he really regarded their differences seriously, allher own prudence and doubt melted away. She knew she was ready to makeany sacrifices for him, and in view of that all talk of obstacles wasfolly.
She stopped the car on the point of the island,