CHAPTER V
LUCK'S PLAY
A young man who had just landed in New York from one of the big,adventurous transatlantic liners hailed a taxicab and was quicklydrawn away into the glitter and gayety of a bright winter morning. Hesat forward eagerly, looking at everything with the air of a lad on aholiday. He was a young man, but he was not in his first youth, andunder a heavy sunburn he was pale and a trifle worn, but there wasabout him a look of being hard and very much alive. Under a broad browthere were hawk eyes of greenish gray, a delicate beak, a mouth andchin of cleverness. It was an interesting face and looked as though ithad seen interesting things. In fact, Prosper Gael had just returnedfrom his three months of ambulance service in France, and it was theextraordinary success of his play, "The Leopardess," that had chieflybrought him back.
"Dear Luck," his manager had written, using the college title whichProsper's name and unvarying good fortune suggested, "you'd bettercome back and gather up some of these laurels that are smothering usall. The time is very favorable for the disappearance of youranonymity. I, for one, find it more and more difficult to keep thesecret. So far, not even your star knows it. She calls you 'Mr. Luck'... to that extent I have been indiscreet...."
Prosper had another letter in his pocket, a letter that he had re-readmany times, always with an uneasy conflict of emotions. He was in asort of hot-cold humor over it, in a fever-fit that had a way ofturning into lassitude. He postponed analysis indefinitely. Meanwhilehis eyes searched the bright, cold city, its crowds, its traffics, itswindows--most of all, its placards, and, not far to seek, there werethe posters of "The Leopardess." He leaned out to study one of them; atall, wild-eyed woman crouched to spring upon a man who stared at herin fear. Prosper dropped back with a gleaming smile of amusedexcitement. "They've made it look like cheap melodrama," he said tohimself; "and yet it's a good thing, the best thing I've ever done.Yet they will vulgarize the whole idea with their infernal notions of'what the public wants.' Morena is as bad as the rest of them!" Heexpressed disgust, but underneath he was aglow with pride andinterest. "There's a performance to-night. I'll dine with Jasper. I'llhave to see Betty first...." His thoughts trailed off and he fell intothat hot-cold confusion, that uncomfortable scorching fog of mood. Thecab turned into Fifth Avenue and became a scale in the creepingserpent of vehicles that glided, paused, and glided again past thethronged pavements. Prosper contrasted everything with the grimcourage and high-pitched tragedy of France. He could not but wonder atthe detached frivolity of these money-spenders, these spinners in thesun. How soon would the shadow fall upon them too and with what changeof countenance would they look up! To him the joyousness seemed almostchildish and yet he bathed his fagged spirit in it. How high the whiteclouds sailed, how blue was the midwinter sky! How the buildingstowered, how quickly the people stepped! Here were the pretty paintedfaces, the absurd silk stockings, the tripping, exquisitely bootedfeet, the swinging walk, the tall, up-springing bodies of the women heremembered. He regarded them with impersonal delight, untinged by anyof his usual cynicism.
It was late afternoon when Prosper, obedient to a telephone call fromBetty, presented himself at the door of Morena's house, just east ofthe Park, off Fifth Avenue; a very beautiful house where the wealthyJew had indulged his passion for exquisite things. Prosper entered itsrich dimness with a feeling of oppression--that unanalyzed mood of hotand cold feeling intensified to an almost unbearable degree. In thelarge carved and curtained drawing-room he waited for Betty. Thetea-things were prepared; there would be no further need of serviceuntil Betty should ring. Everything was arranged for an uninterruptedtete-a-tete. Prosper stood near an ebony table, his shoulderbrushed by tall, red roses, and felt his nerves tighten and his pulseshasten in their beat. "The tall child ... the tall child ..." he hadcalled her by that name so often and never without a swift andstabbing memory of Joan, and of Joan's laughter which he had silenced.
He took out the letter he had lately received from Betty and re-readit and, as he read, a deep line cut between his eyes. "You say youwill not come back unless I can give you more than I have ever givenyou in the past. You say you intend to cut yourself free, that I havefailed you too often, that you are starved on hope. I'm not going toask much more patience of you. I failed you that first time because Ilost courage; the second time, fate failed us. How could I think thatJasper would get well when the doctors told me that I mustn't allowmyself even a shadow of hope! Now, I think that Jasper, himself, ispreparing my release. This all sounds like something in a book. That'sbecause you've hurt me. I feel frozen up. I couldn't bear it if now,just when the door is opening, you failed me. Prosper, you are mylover for always, aren't you? I have to believe that to go on living.You are the one thing in my wretched life that hasn't lost its value.Now, read this carefully; I am going to be brutal. Jasper has beenunfaithful to me. I know it. I have sufficient evidence to prove it ina law court and I shall not hesitate to get a divorce. Tear this up,please. Now, of all times, we must be extraordinarily careful. Therehas never been a whisper against us and there mustn't be. Jasper mustnot suspect. A counter-suit would ruin my life. I must talk it overwith you. I'll see you once alone--just once--before I leave Jasperand begin the suit. We must have patience for just this last bit. Itwill seem very long...."
Prosper folded the letter. He was conscious of a faint feeling ofsickness, of fear. Then he heard Betty's step across the marblepavement of the hall. She parted the heavy curtains, drew themtogether behind her, and stood, pale with joy, opening and shuttingher big eyes. Then she came to meet him, held him back, listening forany sound that might predict interruption, and gave herself to hisarms. She was no longer pale when he let her go. She went a few stepsaway and stood with her hands before her face, then she went to sit bythe tea-table. They were both flushed. Betty's eyes were shining undertheir fluttering lids. Prosper rejoiced in his own emotion. The mentalfog had lifted and the feeling of faintness was gone.
"You've decided not to break away altogether, then?" she asked, givinghim a quick glance.
He shook his head. "Not if what you have written me is true. I've hadsuch letters from you before and I've grown very suspicious. Are yousure this time?" He laid stress upon his bitterness. It was his oneweapon against her and he had been sharpening it with a vague purpose.
"Oh," said Betty, speaking low and furtively, "Jasper is fairlycaught. I have a reliable witness in the girl's maid. There is nodoubt of his guilt, Prosper, none. Everyone is talking of it. He hasbeen perfectly open in his attentions."
Every minute Betty looked younger and prettier, more provoking. Herchild-mouth with its clever smile was bright as though his kiss hadpainted it.
"Who is the girl?" asked Prosper. He was deeply flushed. Being capableof simultaneous points of view, he had been stung by that cool phraseof Betty's concerning "Jasper's guilt."
"I'll tell you in a moment. Did you destroy my letter?"
He shook his head.
"Oh, Prosper, please!"
He took it out, tore it up, and walking over to the open fire, burnedthe papers. He came back to his tea. "Well, Betty?"
"The girl," said Betty, "is the star in your play, 'The Leopardess,'the girl that Jasper picked up two Septembers ago out West. He haswritten to you about her. She was a cook, if you please, a hideouscreature, but Jasper saw at once what there was in her. She has madethe play. You'll have to acknowledge that yourself when you see her.She is wonderful. And, partly owing to the trouble I've taken withher, the girl is beautiful. One wouldn't have thought it possible. Sheis not charming to me, she's not in the least subtle. It's odd thatshe should have had such an effect upon Jasper, of all men...."
Prosper sipped his tea and listened. He looked at her and was bitterlyconscious that the excitement which had pleased and surprised him wasdying out. That faintness again assailed his spirit. He was feelingstifled, ashamed, bored. Yes, that was it, bored. That life of serviceand battle-danger in France had changed him more than he had realizedtill now. H
e was more simple, more serious, more moral, in a certainsense. He was like a man who, having denied the existence of Apollyon,has come upon him face to face and has been burnt by his breath. Sucha man is inevitably moral. All this long, intricate intrigue with thewife of a man who called him friend, seemed to him horribly unworthy.If Betty had been a great lover, if she had not lost courage at theeleventh hour and left him to face that terrible winter in Wyoming,then their passion might have justified itself: but now there was astaleness in their relationship. He hated the thought of the longdivorce proceedings, of the decent interval, of the wedding, of themarried life. He had never really wanted that. And now, in the ebb ofhis passion, how could he force himself to take her when he hadlearned to live more keenly, more completely without her! He wouldhave to take her, to spend his days and nights with her, to travelwith her. She would want to visit that gay, little forsaken house in aWyoming canyon. With vividness he saw a girl lying prone on a blackrug before a dancing fire, her hair all fallen about her face, hersecret eyes lifted impatiently from the book--"You had ought to bewritin', Mr. Gael...."
"What are you smiling for, Prosper?" Betty asked sharply.
He looked up, startled and confused. "Sorry. I've got into beastlyabsent-minded habits. Is that Morena?"
Jasper opened the curtains and came in, greeting Prosper in hisstately, charming fashion. "To-night," he said, "we'll show you aleopardess worth looking at, won't we, Betty? But first you must tellus about your own experience. You look wonderfully fit, doesn't he,Betty? And changed. They say the life out there stamps a man, andthey're right. It's taken some of that winged-demon look out of yourface, Prosper, put some soul into it."
He talked and Betty laughed, showing not the slightest evidence ofeffort, though the soul Jasper had seen in Prosper's face felt shriveledfor her treachery. Prosper wondered if she could be right in her surmiseabout Jasper. The Jew was infinitely capable of dissimulation, but therewas a clarity of look and smile that filled Prosper with doubts. And theeyes he turned upon his wife were quite as apparently as ever the eyesof a disappointed man.
So absorbed was he in such observations that he found it intolerablydifficult to fix his attention on the talk. Jasper's fluency seemed toripple senselessly about his brain.
"You must consent to one thing, Luck: you must allow me to choose myown time for announcing the authorship." This found its way partiallyto his intelligence and he gave careless assent.
"Oh, whenever you like, as soon as I've had my fun."
"Of course--" Morena was thoughtful for an instant. "How would it dofor me to leave it with Melton, the business manager? Eh? Suppose Iphone him and talk it over a little. He'll want to wait till towardthe end of the run. He's keen; has just the commercial sense of theborn advertiser. Let him choose the moment. Then we can feel sure ofgetting the right one. Will you, Luck?"
"If you advise it. You ought to know."
"You see, I'm so confoundedly busy, so many irons in the fire, I mightjust miss the psychic moment. I think Melton's the man--I'll call himup to-night before we leave. Then I won't forget it and I'll be sureto catch him too."
Again Prosper vaguely agreed and promptly forgot that he had given hispermission. Later, there came an agonizing moment when he would havegiven the world to recall his absent, careless words.
With an effort Prosper kept his poise, with an effort, alwaysincreasing, he talked to Jasper while Betty dressed, and kept up hisend at dinner. The muscles round his mouth felt tight and drawn, histhroat was dry. He was glad when they got into the limousine andstarted theaterwards. It had been a long time since he had been putthrough this particular ordeal and he was out of practice.
They reached the house just as the lights went out. Prosper was amusedat his own intense excitement. "I didn't know I was still such a kid,"he said, flashing a smile, the first spontaneous one he had given her,upon Betty who sat beside him in the proscenium box.
The success of his novel had had no such effect upon him as this. Itwas entrancing to think that in a few moments the words he had writtenwould come to him clothed in various voices, the people his brain hadpictured would move before him in flesh and blood, doing what he hadordained that they should do. When the curtain rose, he had forgottenhis personal problem, had forgotten Betty. He leaned forward, hiselbows on his knees, his chin in his hand.
The scene was of a tropical island, palms, a strip of turquoise sea. Agirl pushed aside the great fronds of ferns and stepped down to thebeach. At her appearance the audience broke into applause. She was atall girl, her stained legs and arms bare below her ragged dress, herblack hair hung wild and free about her face and neck. As the daughterof a native mother and an English father, her beauty had been made toseem both Saxon and savage. Stained and painted, darkened below thegreat gray eyes, Joan with her brows and her classic chin and throat,Joan with her secret, dangerous eyes and lithe, long body, made anarresting picture enough against the setting of vivid green and blue.She moved slowly, deliberately, naturally, and stood, hands on hips,to watch a ship sail into the turquoise harbor. It was not likeacting, she seemed really to look. She threw back her head and gave acall. It was the name of her stage brother, but it came from her deepchest and through her long column of a throat like music. Prosperbrought down his hands on the railing before him, half pushed himselfup, turned a blind look upon Betty, who laid a restraining hand uponhis arm.
He whispered a name, which Betty could not make out, then he sat down,moistened his lips with his tongue, and sat through the entire firstact and neither moved nor spoke. As the curtain went down he stood up.
"I must go out," he said, and hesitated in the back of the box tillJasper came over to him with an anxious question. Then he began tostammer nervously. "Don't tell her, Jasper, don't tell her."
"Tell her what, man? Tell whom?" Jasper gave him a shake. "Don't youlike Jane? Isn't she wonderful?"
"Yes, yes, extraordinary!"
"Made for the part?"
"No." Prosper's face twisted into a smile. "No. The part came second,she was there first. Morena, promise me you won't tell her who wrotethe play."
"Look here, Prosper, suppose you tell me what's wrong. Have you seen aghost?"
Prosper laughed; then, seeing Betty, her face a rigid question, hestruggled to lay hands upon his self-control.
"Something very astonishing has happened, Morena,--one of those'things not dreamt of in a man's philosophy.' I can't tell you. Haveyou arranged for me to meet Jane West?"
"After the show, yes, at supper."
"But not as the author?"
"No. I was waiting for you to tell her that."
"She mustn't know. And--and I can't meet her that way, at supper."Again he made visible efforts at self-control. "Don't tell Betty whata fool I am. I'll go out a minute. I'll be all right."
Betty was coming toward them. He gave a painful smile and fled.
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