CHAPTER XI
It was almost ten o'clock when Claire left the house. She waited to seeRadcliffe properly fed, and put to bed, before she went. She covered himup, and tucked him in as, in all his life, he had never been covered up,and tucked in, before. Then, dinnerless and faint, she slipped out intothe bleak night.
She was too exhausted to feel triumphant over her conquest. The onlysensations she realized were a dead weariness that hung on her spiritand body like a palpable weight, and, far down in her heart, somethingthat smouldered and burned like a live ember, ready to burst forth andblaze at a touch.
She had walked but a block or two when, through her numbness, crept adim little shadow of dread. At first it was nothing more than an innersuggestion to hasten her steps, but gradually it became a consciousimpulse to outstrip something or some one behind her--some one orsomething whose footfalls, resounding faintly through the desertedstreet, kept such accurate pace with her own, that they sounded liketheir echo.
It was not until she had quickened her steps, and found that theother's steps had quickened, too, not until she had slowed down toalmost a saunter, only to discover that the one behind was lagging also,that she acknowledged to herself she was being followed.
Then, from out the far reaches of her memory, came the words of AuntAmelia's formula: "Sir, you are no gentleman. If you were a gentleman--"But straightway followed Martha's trenchant criticism.
"Believe _me_, that's rot! It might go all right on the stage, for agirl to stop, an' let off some elercution while the villain stillpursued her, but here in New York City it wouldn't work. Not on yourlife it wouldn't. Villains ain't pausin' these busy days, in their madcareers, for no recitation-stunts, I don't care how genteel you get 'emoff. If they're on the job, you got to step lively, an' not linger'round for no sweet farewells. Now, you got your little temper with you,all right, all right! If you also got a umbrella, why, just you make a_com_bine o' the two an'--aim for the bull's eye, though his nose willdo just as good, specially if it's the bleedin' v'riety. No! P'licemenain't what I'd reckmend, for bein' called to the resquer. In the firstplace, they ain't ap' to be there. An', besides, they wouldn't know whatto do if they was. P'licemen is funny that way.
"They mean well, but they get upset if anythin' 's doin' on their beat.They like things quiet. An' they don't like to _run in_ their friends,an' so, by the time you think you made 'em understand what you'redrivin' at, _the villain_ has got away, an' you're like to be hauled upbefore the magistrate for disturbin' the peace, which, bein' so shy an'bashful before high officials, p'licemen don't like to blow in at courtwithout somethin' to show for the way they been workin'."
It all flashed across Claire's mind in an instant, like a picture thrownacross a screen. Then, without pausing to consider what she meant to do,she halted, turned, and--was face to face with Francis Ronald.
Before he could speak, she flashed upon him two angry eyes.
"What do you mean by following me?"
"It is late--too late for you to be out in the streets alone," heanswered quietly.
Claire laughed. "You forget I'm not a society girl. I'm a girl who worksfor her living. I can't carry a chaperon about with me wherever I go. Imust take care of myself, and--I know how to do it. I'm not afraid."
"I believe you."
"Then--good-night!"
"I intend to see you home."
"I don't need you."
"Nevertheless, I intend to see you home."
"I don't--_want_ you."
"Notwithstanding which--"
He hailed a passing motor-taxi, gave the chauffeur Martha's street andnumber, after he had succeeded in extracting them from Claire, and then,in spite of protests, helped her in.
For a long time she sat beside him in silence, trying to quell inherself a weak inclination to shed tears, because--because he hadcompelled her to do something against her will.
He did not attempt any conversation, and when, at last, she spoke, itwas of her own accord.
"I've decided to resign my position."
"Is it permitted me to know why?"
"I can't stay."
"That is no explanation."
"I don't feel I can manage Radcliffe."
"Pardon me, you know you can. You have proved it. He is your bond-slave,from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer."
Claire laughed, a sharp, cutting little laugh that was like a keen knifeturned on herself.
"O, it would have to be for poorer--'all right, all right,' as Marthasays," she cried scornfully. "But it has been too hard--to-day. I can'tendure any more."
"You won't have to. Radcliffe is conquered, so far as you are concerned.'Twill be plain sailing, after this."
"I'd rather do something else. I'd like something different."
"I did not think you were a quitter."
"I'm not."
"O, yes, you are, if you give up before the game is done. No good sportdoes that."
"I've no ambition to be a good sport."
"Perhaps not. But you _are_ a good sport. A thorough good sport. _Andyou won't give up till you've seen this thing through_."
"Is that a prediction, or a--command? It sounds like a command."
"It is whatever will hold you to the business you've undertaken. I wantyou to conquer the rest, as you've conquered Radcliffe."
"The rest?"
"Yes."
"What do you mean by the rest?"
"I mean circumstances. I mean obstacles. I mean, my mother--my sister."
"I don't--understand."
"Perhaps not."
"And suppose (forgive me if I seem rude), suppose I don't consider _therest_ worth conquering? Why should I? What one has to strive so for--"
"Is worth the most. One has to strive for everything in this world,everything that is really worth while. One has to strive to get it, onehas to strive to keep it."
"Well, I don't think I care very much to-night, if I never get anythingever again in all my life to come."
"Poor little tired girl!"
Claire's chin went up with a jerk. "I don't need your pity, I won't haveit. I am a stranger to you and to your friends. I am--" The defiant chinbegan to quiver.
"If you were not so tired," Francis Ronald said gravely, "I'd have thisthing out with you, here and now. I'd _make_ you tell me why you sowilfully misunderstand. Why you seem to take pleasure in saying thingsthat are meant to hurt me, and must hurt you. As it is--"
Claire turned on him impetuously. "I don't ask you to make allowancesfor me. If I do what displeases you, I give you perfect liberty to findfault. I'm not too tired to listen. But as to your _making_ me do or sayanything I don't choose, why--"
He shook his head. "I'm afraid you are a hopeless proposition, at leastfor the present. Perhaps, some time I may be able to make youunderstand--Forgive me! I should say, perhaps, some time you may bewilling to understand."
Their chauffeur drew up beside the curbstone in front of Martha's door,then sprang down from his seat to prove to his lordly-looking "fare"that he knew his business, and was deserving of as large a tip as acorrect estimate of his merit might suggest.
Francis Ronald took Claire's key from her, fitted it into the lock ofthe outer door, and opened it for her.
"And you will stand by Radcliffe? You won't desert him?" he asked, asshe was about to pass into the house.
"I'll show you that, at least, I'm not a quitter, even if I _am_ ahopeless proposition, as you say."
A faint shadow of a smile flitted across his face as, with head heldproudly erect, she turned and left him.
"No, you're not a quitter," he muttered to himself, "but--neither am I!"
The determined set of his jaw would have rekindled that inner rebelliousfire in Claire, if she had seen it. But she was seeing nothing just atthat moment, save Martha, who, to her amazement, stood ready to receiveher in the inner hall.
"Ain't it just grand?" inquired Mrs. Slawson. "They told me yesterday,'all th
ings bein' equal,' they'd maybe leave us back soon, but I didn'tput no stock in it, knowin' they never _is_ equal. So I just held metongue an' waited, an' this mornin', like a bolster outer a blue sky,come the word that at noon we could go. Believe _me_, I didn't wait forno old shoes or rice to be threw after me. I got into their oldamberlance-carriage, as happy as a blushin' bride bein' led to thehalter, an' Francie an' me come away reji'cin'. Say, but what ails_you?_ You look sorter--sorter like a--strained relation or somethin'.What you been doin' to yourself to get so white an' holler-eyed? Whatkep' you so late?"
"I had a tussle with Radcliffe."
"Who won out?"
"I did, but it took me all day."
"Never mind. It'd been cheap at the price, if it had 'a' took you allweek. How come the madam to give you a free hand?"
"She was away."
"Anybody else know what was goin' on? Any of the fam'ly?"
"Yes, Mr. Ronald. He brought me home. I didn't want him to, but he did.He just _made_ me let him, and--O, Martha--I can't bear--I can't bear--"
"You mean you can't bear _him?"_
Claire nodded, choking back her tears.
"Now, what do you think o' that!" ejaculated Mrs. Slawson pensively."An' he so _pop'lar_ with the ladies! Why, you'd oughter hear themstylish lady-friends o' Mrs. Sherman praisin' 'm to her face. It'd makeyou blush for their modesty, which they don't seem to have none, an'that's a fac'. You can take it from me, you're the only one he ever comein contract with, has such a hate on'm. I wouldn't 'a' believed it,unless I'd 'a' had it from off of your own lips. But there's no usetryin' to argue such things. Taste is different. What pleases one,pizens another. In the mean time--an' it _is_ a mean time for you, youpoor, wore-out child--I've some things here, hot an' tasty, that'llencourage your stummick, no matter how it's turned on some other things.As I says to Sammy, it's a poor stummick won't warm its own bit, but allthe same, there's times when somethin' steamin' does your heart as muchgood as it does your stummick, which, the two o' them bein' such nearneighbors, no wonder we get 'em mixed up sometimes, an' think the one isstarved when it's only the other."
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