CHAPTER XVIII
PEACE AT ANY PRICE
Miss Severance, stepping out of a Waldorf elevator at the main floor,shrank back wide-eyed. "You?" she gasped.
Before her, serene and smiling and inflexible, was Craig. None of thesuits he had bought at seven that morning was quite right for immediateuse; so there he was in his old lounge suit, baggy at knees and elbowsand liberally bestrewn with lint. Her glance fell from his mussy collarto his backwoodsman's hands, to his feet, so cheaply and shabbily shod;the shoes looked the worse for the elaborate gloss the ferry bootblackhad put upon them. She advanced because she could not retreat; but neverhad she been so repelled.
She had come to New York to get away from him. When she entered thetrain she had flung him out of the window. "I WILL NOT think of himagain," she had said to herself. But--Joshua Craig's was not the sort ofpersonality that can be banished by an edict of will. She could thinkangrily of him, or disdainfully, or coldly, or pityingly--but think shemust. And think she did. She told herself she despised him; and therecame no echoing protest or denial from anywhere within her. She said shewas done with him forever, and well done; her own answer to herselfthere was, that while she was probably the better off for having got outof the engagement, still it must be conceded that socially the manner ofher getting out meant scandal, gossip, laughter at her. Her cheeksburned as her soul flamed.
"The vulgar boor!" she muttered.
Was ever woman so disgraced, and so unjustly? What had the gods againsther, that they had thus abased her? How Washington would jeer! How herfriends would sneer! What hope was there now of her ever getting ahusband? She would be an object of pity and of scorn. It would take morecourage than any of the men of her set had, to marry a woman rejected bysuch a creature--and in such circumstances!
"He has made everybody think I sought him. Now, he'll tell everybodythat he had to break it off--that HE broke it off!"
She ground her teeth; she clenched her hands; she wept and moaned in theloneliness of her bed. She hated Craig; she hated the whole world; sheloathed herself. And all the time she had to keep up appearances--forshe had not dared tell her grandmother--had to listen while the old ladydiscussed the marriage as an event of the not remote future.
Why had she not told her grandmother? Lack of courage; hope thatsomething would happen to reveal the truth without her telling. HOPEthat something would happen? No, fear. She did not dare look at thenewspapers. But, whatever her reason, it was not any idea that possiblythe engagement might be resumed. No, not that. "Horrible as I feel,"thought she, "I am better off than in those weeks when that man waswhirling me from one nightmare to another. The peace of desolation isbetter than that torture of doubt and repulsion. Whatever was I thinkingof to engage myself to such a man? to think seriously of passing my lifewith him? Poor fool that I was, to rail against monotony, to sigh forsensations! Well, I have got them."
Day and night, almost without ceasing, her thoughts had boiled andbubbled on and on, like a geyser ever struggling for outlet and everfalling vainly back upon itself.
Now--here he was, greeting her at the elevator car, smiling andconfident, as if nothing had happened. She did not deign even to stareat him, but, with eyes that seemed to be simply looking without seeingany especial object, she walked straight on. "I'm in luck," cried he,beside her. "I had only been walking up and down there by the elevatorsabout twenty minutes."
She made no reply. At the door she said to the carriage-caller:
"A cab, please--no, a hansom."
The hansom drove up; its doors opened. Craig pushed aside the carriageman, lifted her in with a powerful upward swing of his arm against herelbow and side--so powerful that she fell into the seat, knocking herhat awry and loosening her veil from the brim so that it hung downdistressfully across her eyes and nose. "Drive up Fifth Avenue to thePark," said Craig, seating himself beside her. "Now, please don't cry,"he said to her.
"Cry?" she exclaimed. Her dry, burning eyes blazed at him.
"Your eyes were so bright," laughed he, "that I thought they were fullof tears."
"If you are a gentleman you will leave this hansom at once."
"Don't talk nonsense," said he. "You know perfectly well I'll not leave.You know perfectly well I'll say what I've got to say to you, and thatno power on earth can prevent me. That's why you didn't give way to yourimpulse to make a scene when I followed you into this trap."
She was busy with her hat and veil.
"Can I help you?" said he with a great show of politeness that wasridiculously out of harmony with him in every way. That, and theabsurdity of Josh Craig, of all men, helping a woman in the delicatetask of adjusting a hat and veil, struck her as so ludicrous that shelaughed hysterically; her effort to make the laughter appear an outburstof derisive, withering scorn was not exactly a triumph.
"Well," she presently said, "what is it you wish to say? I have verylittle time."
He eyed her sharply. "You think you dislike me, don't you?" said he.
"I do," replied she, her tone as cutting as her words were curt.
"How little that amounts to! All human beings--Grant, you, I, all of us,everybody--are brimful of vanity. It slops over a little one way and wecall it like. It slops over the other way and we call itdislike--hate--loathing--according to the size of the slop. Now, I'm nothere to deal with vanity, but with good sense. Has it occurred to you inthe last few days that you and I have got to get married, whether wewill or no?"
"It has not," she cried with frantic fury of human being cornered by anugly truth.
"Oh, yes, it has. For you are a sensible woman--entirely too sensiblefor a woman, unless she marries an unusual man like me."
"Is that a jest?" she inquired in feeble attempt at sarcasm.
"Don't you know I have no sense of humor? Would I do the things I do andcarry them through if I had?"
In spite of herself she admired this penetration of self-analysis. Inspite of herself the personality beneath his surface, the personalitythat had a certain uncanny charm for her, was subtly reasserting itsinexplicable fascination.
"Yes, we've got to marry," proceeded he. "I have to marry you because Ican't afford to let you say you jilted me. That would make me thelaughing-stock of my State; and I can't afford to tell the truth that Ijilted you because the people would despise me as no gentleman. And,while I don't in the least mind being despised as no gentleman byfashionable noddle-heads or by those I trample on to rise, I do mind itwhen it would ruin me with the people."
Her eyes gleamed. So! She had him at her mercy!
"Not so fast, young lady," continued he in answer to that gleam. "It isequally true that you've got to marry me."
"But I shall not!" she cried. "Besides, it isn't true."
"It IS true," replied he. "You may refuse to marry me, just as a man mayrefuse to run when the dynamite blast is going off. Yes, you can refuse,but--you'd not be your grandmother's granddaughter if you did."
"Really!" She was so surcharged with rage that she was shaking with it,was tearing up her handkerchief in her lap.
"Yes, indeed," he assured her, tranquil as a lawyer arguing a commercialcase before a logic-machine of a judge. "If you do not marry me all yourfriends will say I jilted you. I needn't tell you what it would mean inyour set, what it would mean as to your matrimonial prospects, for youto have the reputation of having been turned down by me--need I?"
She was silent; her head down, her lips compressed, her fingers fiercelyinterlaced with the ruins of her handkerchief.
"It is necessary that you marry," said he summing up. "It is wisest andeasiest to marry me, since I am willing. To refuse would be to inflictan irreparable injury upon yourself in order to justify a paltry whimfor injuring me."
She laughed harshly. "You are frank," said she.
"I am paying you the compliment of frankness. I am appealing to yourintelligence, where a less intelligent man and one that knew you lesswould try to gain his point by chicane, flattery, deception."
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"Yes--it is a compliment," she answered. "It was stupid of me to sneerat your frankness."
A long silence. He lighted a cigarette, smoked it with deliberationforeign to his usual self but characteristic of him when he was closelyand intensely engaged; for he was like a thoroughbred that is all fretand champ and pawing and caper until the race is on, when he at oncesettles down into a calm, steady stride, with all the surplus nervousenergy applied directly and intelligently to the work in hand. She wasnot looking at him, but she was feeling him in every atom of her body,was feeling the power, the inevitableness of the man. He angered her,made her feel weak, a helpless thing, at his mercy. True, it was hislogic that was convincing her, not his magnetic and masterful will; butsomehow the two seemed one. Never had he been so repellent, never hadshe felt so hostile to him.
"I will marry you," she finally said. "But I must tell you that I do notlove you--or even like you. The reverse."
His face, of the large, hewn features, with their somehow pathetictraces of the struggles and sorrows of his rise, grew strange, almostterrible. "Do you mean that?" he said, turning slowly toward her.
She quickly shifted her eyes, in which her dislike was showing, shiftedthem before he could possibly have seen. And she tried in vain to forcepast her lips the words which she believed to be the truth, the wordshis pathetic, powerful face told her would end everything. Yes, she knewhe would not marry her if she told him the truth about her feelings.
"Do you mean that?" he repeated, stern and sharp, yet sad, wistfullysad, too.
"I don't know what I mean," she cried, desperately afraid of him, afraidof the visions the idea of not marrying him conjured. "I don't know whatI mean," she repeated. "You fill me with a kind of--of--horror. You drawme into your grasp in spite of myself--like a whirlpool--and rouse allmy instinct to try and save myself. Sometimes that desire becomes apositive frenzy."
He laughed complacently. "That is love," said he.
She did not resent his tone or dispute his verdict externally. "If it islove," replied she evenly, "then never did love wear so strange, sodreadful a disguise."
He laid his talon-hand, hardened and misshapen by manual labor, but ifugly, then ugly with the majesty of the twisted, tempest-defying oak,over hers. "Believe me, Margaret, you love me. You have loved me allalong.... And I you."
"Don't deceive yourself," she felt bound to say, "I certainly do notlove you if love has any of its generally accepted meanings."
"I am not the general sort of person," said he. "It is not strange thatI should arouse extraordinary feelings, is it? Driver"--he had the trapin the roof up and was thrusting through it a slip of paper--"take us tothat street and number."
She gasped with a tightening at the heart. "I must return to the hotelat once," she said hurriedly.
He fixed his gaze upon her. "We are going to the preacher's," said he.
"The preacher's?" she murmured, shrinking in terror.
"Grant is waiting for us there"--he glanced at his watch--"or, rather,will be there in about ten minutes. We are a little earlier than Ianticipated."
She flushed crimson, paled, felt she would certainly suffocate withrage.
"Before you speak," continued he, "listen to me. You don't want to goback into that torment of doubt in which we've both been hopping aboutfor a month, like a pair of damned souls being used as tennis balls byfiends. Let's settle the business now, and for good and all. Let us havepeace--for God's sake, peace! I know you've been miserable. I know I'vebeen on the rack. And it's got to stop. Am I not right?"
She leaned back in her corner of the cab, shut her eyes, said nomore--and all but ceased to think. What was there to say? What was thereto think? When Fate ceases to tolerate our pleasant delusion of freewill, when it openly and firmly seizes us and hurries us along, we donot discuss or comment. We close our minds, relax and submit.
At the parsonage he sprang out, stood by to help her descend,half-dragged her from the cab when she hesitated. He shouted at thedriver: "How much do I owe you, friend?"
"Six dollars, sir."
"Not on your life!" shouted Craig furiously. He turned to Margaret,standing beside him in a daze. "What do you think of THAT! This fellowimagines because I've got a well-dressed woman along I'll submit. ButI'm not that big a snob." He was looking up at the cabman again. "Youmiserable thief!" he exclaimed. "I'll give you three dollars, and that'stoo much by a dollar."
"Don't you call me names!" yelled the cabman, shaking his fist with thewhip in it.
"The man's drunk," cried Josh to the little crowd of people that hadassembled. Margaret, overwhelmed with mortification, tugged at hissleeve. "The man's not overcharging much--if any," she said in anundertone.
"You're saying that because you hate scenes," replied Josh loudly. "Yougo on into the house. I'll take care of this hound."
Margaret retreated within the parsonage gate; her very soul was sick.She longed for the ground to open and swallow her forever. It would bebad enough for a man to make such an exhibition at any time; but to makeit when he was about to be married!--and in such circumstances!--tosquabble and scream over a paltry dollar or so!
"Here's a policeman!" cried Craig. "Now, you thief, we'll see!"
The cabman sprang down from his seat. "You damn jay!" he bellowed. "Youdon't know New York cabfares. Was you ever to town before--eh?"
Craig beckoned the policeman with vast, excited gestures. Margaret fledup the walk toward the parsonage door, but not before she heard Craigsay to the policeman:
"I am Joshua Craig, assistant to the Attorney-General of the UnitedStates. This thief here--" And so on until he had told the whole story.Margaret kept her back to the street, but she could hear the twofiercely-angry voices, the laughter of the crowd. At last Craig joinedher--panting, flushed, triumphant. "I knew he was a thief. Four dollarswas the right amount, but I gave him five, as the policeman said it wasbest to quiet him."
He gave a jerk at the knob of parsonage street bell as if he weredetermined to pull it out; the bell within rang loudly, angrily, likethe infuriate voice of a sleeper who has been roused with a thunderingkick. "This affair of ours," continued Craig, "is going to cost money.And I've been spending it to-day like a drunken sailor. The more carefulI am, the less careful I will have to be, my dear."
The door opened--a maid, scowling, appeared.
"Come on," cried Joshua to Margaret. And he led the way, brushing themaid aside as she stood her ground, attitude belligerent, but expressionperplexed. To her, as he passed, Craig said: "Tell Doctor Scones thatMr. Craig and the lady are here. Has Mr. Arkwright come?"
By this time he was in the parlor; a glance around and he burst out:
"Late, by jiminy! And I told him to be here ahead of time."
He darted to the window. "Ah! There he comes!" He wheeled upon Margaretjust as she dropped, half-fainting, into a chair. "What's the matter,dear?" He leaped to her side. "No false emotions, please. If you couldweather the real ones what's the use of getting up ladylike excitementover--"
"For God's sake!" exclaimed Margaret, "sit down and shut up! If youdon't I shall scream--scream--SCREAM!"
The maid gaped first at one, then at the other, left them reluctantly toadmit Arkwright. As she opened the door she had to draw back a little.There was Craig immediately behind her. He swept her aside, flung thedoor wide. "Come on! Hurry!" he cried to Grant. "We're waiting." And heseized him by the arm and thrust him into the parlor. At the sameinstant the preacher entered by another door. Craig's excitement, farfrom diminishing, grew wilder and wilder. The preacher thought himinsane or drunk. Grant and Margaret tried in vain to calm him. Nothingwould do but the ceremony instantly--and he had his way. Never was therea more undignified wedding. When the responses were all said and themarriage was a fact accomplished, so far as preacher could accomplishit, Craig seemed suddenly to subside.
"I should like to go into the next room for a moment," said the pallidand trembling Margaret.
"Certainly," said Docto
r Scones sympathetically, and, with a fiercescowl at the groom, he accompanied the bride from the room.
"What a mess you have made!" exclaimed Arkwright indignantly. "You'vebeen acting like a lunatic."
"It wasn't acting--altogether," laughed Josh, giving Grant one of thosetremendous slaps on the back. "You see, it was wise to give hersomething else to think about so she couldn't possibly hesitate or bolt.So I just gave way to my natural feelings. It's a way I have indifficult situations."
Grant's expression as he looked at him was a mingling of admiration,fear and scorn. "You are full of those petty tricks," said he.
"Why petty? Is it petty to meet the requirements of a situation? Thesituation was petty--the trick had to be. Besides, I tell you, it wasn'ta trick. If I hadn't given my nerves an outlet I might have balked orbolted myself. I didn't want to have to think any more than she."
"You mustn't say those things to me," objected his friend.
"Why not? What do I care what you or any one else thinks of ME? And whatcould you do except simply think? Old pal, you ought to learn not tojudge me by the rules of your little puddle. It's a ridiculous habit."He leaped at the door where Margaret had disappeared and rapped on itfiercely.
"Yes--yes--I'm coming," responded a nervous, pleading, agitated voice;and the door opened and Margaret appeared.
"What shall we do now?" she said to Craig. Grant saw, with an amazementhe could scarcely conceal, that for the time, at least, she was quitesubdued, would meekly submit to anything.
"Go to your grandmother," said Craig promptly. "You attend to thepreacher, Grant. Twenty-five's enough to give him."
Margaret's cheeks flamed, her head bowed. Grant flushed in sympathy withher agony before this vulgarity. And a moment later he saw Margaretstanding, drooping and resigned, at the curb, while Craig excitedlyhailed a cab. "Poor girl!" he muttered, "living with thatnightmare-in-breeches will surely kill her--so delicate, so refined, sosensitive!"
The Fashionable Adventures of Joshua Craig: A Novel Page 18