CHAPTER XII
A LIFE LINE
She had told him her story from beginning to end, as far as sheherself comprehended it. She was lying sideways now, in the depths ofa large armchair, her cheek cushioned on the upholstered wings.
Her hat, with its cheap blue enamel pins sticking in the crown, lay onhis desk; her hair, partly loosened, shadowed a young face grownpinched with weariness; and the reaction from shock was already makingher grey eyes heavy and edging the under lids with bluish shadows.
She had not come there with the intention of telling him anything. Allshe had wanted was a place in which to rest, a glass of water, andsomebody to help her find the train to Gayfield. She told him this;remained reticent under his questioning; finally turned her haggardface to the chairback and refused to answer.
For an hour or more she remained obstinately dumb, motionless exceptfor the uncontrollable trembling of her body; he brought her a glassof water, sat watching her at intervals; rose once or twice to pacethe studio, his well-shaped head bent, his hands clasped behind hisback, always returning to the corner-chair before the desk to sitthere, eyeing her askance, waiting for some decision.
But it was not the recurrent waves of terror, the ever latent fear ofBrandes, or even her appalling loneliness that broke her down; it wassheer fatigue--nature's merciless third degree--under which mentaland physical resolution disintegrated--went all to pieces.
And when at length she finally succeeded in reconqueringself-possession, she had already stammered out answers to his gentlypersuasive questions--had told him enough to start the fullerconfession to which he listened in utter silence.
And now she had told him everything, as far as she understood thesituation. She lay sideways, deep in the armchair, tired, yet vaguelyconscious that she was resting mind and body, and that calm wasgradually possessing the one, and the nerves of the other were growingquiet.
Listlessly her grey eyes wandered around the big studio where shadowyand strangely beautiful but incomprehensible things met her gaze, likeiridescent, indefinite objects seen in dreams.
These radiantly unreal splendours were only Neeland's rejected Academypictures and studies; a few cheap Japanese hangings, cheaper Nipponporcelains, and several shaky, broken-down antiques picked up for asong here and there. All the trash and truck and dust and junkcharacteristic of the conventional artist's habitation were there.
But to Ruhannah this studio embodied all the wonders and beauties ofthat magic temple to which, from her earliest memory, her very soulhad aspired--the temple of the unknown God of Art.
Vaguely she endeavoured to realise that she was now inside one of itsmyriad sanctuaries; that here under her very tired and youthful eyesstood one of its countless altars; that here, also, near by, sat oneof those blessed acolytes who aided in the mysteries of its wondrousservice.
"Ruhannah," he said, "are you calm enough to let me tell you what Ithink about this matter?"
"Yes. I am feeling better."
"Good work! There's no occasion for panic. What you need is a coolhead and a clear mind."
She said, without stirring from where she lay resting her cheek on thechairback:
"My mind has become quite clear again."
"That's fine! Well, then, I think the thing for you to do is----" Hetook out his watch, examined it, replaced it--"Good Lord!" he said."It is three o'clock!"
She watched him but offered no comment. He went to the telephone,called the New York Central Station, got General Information, inquiredconcerning trains, hung up, and came back to the desk where he hadbeen sitting.
"The first train out leaves at six three," he said. "I think you'dbetter go into my bedroom and lie down. I'm not tired; I'll call youin time, and I'll get a taxi and take you to your train. Does thatsuit you, Ruhannah?"
She shook her head slightly.
"Why not?" he asked.
"I've been thinking. I can't go back."
"Can't go back! Why not?"
"I can't."
"You mean you'd feel too deeply humiliated?"
"I wasn't thinking of my own disgrace. I was thinking of mother andfather." There was no trace of emotion in her voice; she stated thefact calmly.
"I can't go back to Brookhollow. It's ended. I couldn't bear to letthem know what has happened to me."
"What did you think of doing?" he asked uneasily.
"I must think of mother--I must keep my disgrace from touchingthem--spare them the sorrow--humiliation----" Her voice becametremulous, but she turned around and sat up in her chair, meeting hisgaze squarely. "That's as far as I have thought," she said.
Both remained silent for a long while. Then Ruhannah looked up fromher pale preoccupation:
"I told you I had three thousand dollars. Why can't I educate myselfin art with that? Why can't I learn how to support myself by art?"
"Where?"
"Here."
"Yes. But what are you going to say to your parents when you write?They suppose you are on your way to Paris."
She nodded, looking at him thoughtfully.
"By the way," he added, "is your trunk on board the _Lusitania_?"
"Yes."
"That won't do! Have you the check for it?"
"Yes, in my purse."
"We've got to get that trunk off the ship," he said. "There's only onesure way. I'd better go down now, to the pier. Where's your steamerticket?"
"I--I have _both_ tickets and both checks in my bag. He--let me havethe p-pleasure of carrying them----" Again her voice broke childishly,but the threatened emotion was strangled and resolutely choked back.
"Give me the tickets and checks," he said. "I'll go down to the docknow."
She drew out the papers, sat holding them for a few moments withoutrelinquishing them. Then she raised her eyes to his, and a brightflush stained her face:
"Why should I not go to Paris by myself?" she demanded.
"You mean now? On this ship?"
"Yes. Why not? I have enough money to go there and study, haven't I?"
"Yes. But----"
"Why not!" she repeated feverishly, her grey eyes sparkling. "I havethree thousand dollars; I can't go back to Brookhollow and disgracethem. What does it matter where I go?"
"It would be all right," he said, "if you'd ever had anyexperience----"
"Experience! What do you call what I've had today!" She exclaimedexcitedly. "To lose in a single day my mother, my home--to go throughin this city what I have gone through--what I am going through now--isnot that enough experience? Isn't it?"
He said:
"You've had a rotten awakening, Rue--a perfectly devilish experience.Only--you've never travelled alone----" Suddenly it occurred to himthat his lively friend, the Princess Mistchenka, was sailing on the_Lusitania_; and he remained silent, uncertain, looking with vaguemisgivings at this girl in the armchair opposite--this thin, unformed,inexperienced child who had attained neither mental nor physicalmaturity.
"I think," he said at length, "that I told you I had a friend sailingon the _Lusitania_ tomorrow."
She remembered and nodded.
"But wait a moment," he added. "How do you know that this--this fellowBrandes will not attempt to sail on her, also----" Something checkedhim, for in the girl's golden-grey eyes he saw a flame glimmer;something almost terrible came into the child's still gaze; andslowly died out like the afterglow of lightning.
And Neeland knew that in her soul something had been born under hisvery eyes--the first emotion of maturity bursting from thechrysalis--the flaming consciousness of outrage, and the first, fierceassumption of womanhood to resent it.
She had lost her colour now; her grey eyes still remained fixed onhis, but the golden tinge had left them.
"_I_ don't know why you shouldn't go," he said abruptly.
"I _am_ going."
"All right! And if _he_ has the nerve to go--if he bothers you--appealto the captain."
She nodded absently.
"But I don't believe h
e'll try to sail. I don't believe he'd dare,mixed up as he is in a dirty mess. He's afraid of the law, I tell you.That's why he denied marrying you. It meant bigamy to admit it.Anyway, I don't think a fake ceremony like that is binding; I meanthat it isn't even real enough to put him in jail. Which means thatyou're not married, Rue."
"Does it?"
"I think so. Ask a lawyer, anyway. There may be steps to take--I don'tknow. All the same--do you really want to go to France and study art?Do you really mean to sail on this ship?"
"Yes."
"You feel confidence in yourself? You feel sure of yourself?"
"Yes."
"You've got the backbone to see it through?"
"Yes. It's got to be done."
"All right, if you feel that way." He made no move, however, but satthere watching her. After a while he looked at his watch again:
"I'm going to ring up a taxi," he said. "You might as well go on boardand get some sleep. What time does she sail?"
"At five thirty, I believe."
"Well, we haven't so very long, then. There's my bedroom--if you wantto fix up."
She rose wearily.
When she emerged from his room with her hat and gloves on, the taxicabwas audible in the street below.
Together they descended the dark stairway up which she had toiled withtrembling knees. He carried her suitcase, aided her into the taxi.
"Cunard Line," he said briefly, and entered the cab.
Already in the darkness of early morning the city was awake; workmenwere abroad; lighted tramcars passed with passengers; great wains,trucks, and country wagons moved slowly toward markets and ferries.
He had begun to tell her almost immediately all that he knew aboutParis, the life there in the students' quarters, methods of livingeconomically, what to seek and what to avoid--a homily rather hurriedand condensed, as they sped toward the pier.
She seemed to be listening; he could not be sure that she understoodor that her mind was fixed at all on what he was saying. Even whilespeaking, numberless objections to her going occurred to him, but ashe had no better alternatives to suggest he did not voice them.
In his heart he really believed she ought to go back to Brookhollow.It was perfectly evident she would not consent to go there. As for herremaining in New York, perhaps the reasons for her going to Paris wereas good. He was utterly unable to judge; he only knew that she oughtto have the protection of experience, and that was lacking.
"I'm going to remain on board with you," he said, "until she sails.I'm going to try to find my very good friend, the Princess Mistchenka,and have you meet her. She has been very kind to me, and I shall askher to keep an eye on you while you are crossing, and to give you alot of good advice."
"A--princess," said Rue in a tired, discouraged voice, "is not verylikely to pay any attention to me, I think."
"She's one of those Russian or Caucasian princesses. You know theydon't rank very high. She told me herself. She's great fun--full oflife and wit and intelligence and wide experience. She knows a lotabout everything and everybody; she's been everywhere, travelled allover the globe."
"I don't think," repeated Rue, "that she would care for me at all."
"Yes, she would. She's young and warm-hearted and human. Besides, sheis interested in art--knows a lot about it--even paints very wellherself."
"She must be wonderful."
"No--she's just a regular woman. It was because she was interested inart that she came to the League, and I was introduced to her. That ishow I came to know her. She comes sometimes to my studio."
"Yes, but you are already an artist, and an interesting man----"
"Oh, Rue, I'm just beginning. She's kind, that's all--an energetic,intelligent woman, full of interest in life. I _know_ she'll give yousome splendid advice--tell you how to get settled in Paris--Lord! Youdon't even know French, do you?"
"No."
"Not a word?"
"No.... I don't know anything, Mr. Neeland."
He tried to laugh reassuringly:
"I thought it was to be Jim, not Mister," he reminded her.
But she only looked at him out of troubled eyes.
In the glare of the pier's headlights they descended. Passengers wereentering the vast, damp enclosure; porters, pier officers, ship'sofficers, sailors, passed to and fro as they moved toward the gangwaywhere, in the electric glare of lamps, the clifflike side of thegigantic liner loomed up.
At sight of the monster ship Rue's heart leaped, quailed, leapedagain. As she set one slender foot on the gangway such anindescribable sensation seized her that she caught at Neeland's armand held to it, almost faint with the violence of her emotion.
A steward took the suitcase, preceded them down abysmal and gorgeousstairways, through salons, deep into the dimly magnificent bowels ofthe ocean giant, then through an endless white corridor twinkling withlights, to a stateroom, where a stewardess ushered them in.
There was nobody there; nobody had been there.
"He dare not come," whispered Neeland in Ruhannah's ear.
The girl stood in the centre of the stateroom looking silently abouther.
"Have you any English and French money?" he asked.
"No."
"Give me--well, say two hundred dollars, and I'll have the purserchange it."
She went to her suitcase, where it stood on the lounge; he unstrappedit for her; she found the big packet of treasury notes and handed themto him.
"Good heavens!" he muttered. "This won't do. I'm going to have thepurser lock them in the safe and give me a receipt. Then when you meetthe Princess Mistchenka, tell her what I've done and ask her advice.Will you, Rue?"
"Yes, thank you."
"You'll wait here for me, won't you?"
"Yes."
So he noted the door number and went away hastily in search of thepurser, to do what he could in the matter of foreign money for thegirl. And on the upper companionway he met the Princess Mistchenkadescending, preceded by porters with her luggage.
"James!" she exclaimed. "Have you come aboard to elope with me?Otherwise, what are you doing on the _Lusitania_ at this very ghastlyhour in the morning?"
She was smiling into his face and her daintily gloved hand retainedhis for a moment; then she passed her arm through his.
"Follow the porter," she said, "and tell me what brings you here, mygay young friend. You see I am wearing the orchids you sent me. Do youreally mean to add yourself to this charming gift?"
He told her the story of Ruhannah Carew as briefly as he could; at herstateroom door they paused while he continued the story, the PrincessMistchenka looking at him very intently while she listened, and neveruttering a word.
She was a pretty woman, not tall, rather below middle stature,perhaps, beautifully proportioned and perfectly gowned. Hair and eyeswere dark as velvet; her skin was old ivory and rose; and always herlips seemed about to part a little in the faint and provocative smilewhich lay latent in the depths of her brown eyes.
"_Mon Dieu!_" she said, "what a history of woe you are telling me, myfriend James! What a tale of innocence and of deception and outragedtrust is this that you relate to me! _Allons! Vite!_ Let us find thispoor, abandoned infant--this unhappy victim of your sex's well-knownduplicity!"
"She isn't a victim, you know," he explained.
"I see. Only almost--a--victim. Yes? Where is this child, then?"
"May I bring her to you, Princess?"
"But of course! Bring her. I am not afraid--so far--to look any womanin the face at five o'clock in the morning." And the threatened smileflashed out in her fresh, pretty face.
* * * * *
When he came back with Rue Carew, the Princess Mistchenka wasconferring with her maid and with her stewardess. She turned to lookat Rue as Neeland came up--continued to scrutinise her intently whilehe was presenting her.
There ensued a brief silence; the Princess glanced at Neeland, thenher dark eyes returned directly to t
he young girl before her, and sheheld out her hand, smilingly:
"Miss Carew--I believe I know exactly what your voice is going to belike. I think I have heard, in America, such a voice once or twice.Speak to me and prove me right."
Rue flushed:
"What am I to say?" she asked naively.
"I knew I was right," exclaimed the Princess Mistchenka gaily. "Comeinto my stateroom and let each one of us discover how agreeable is theother. Shall we--my dear child?"
* * * * *
When Neeland returned from a visit to the purser with a pocket full ofBritish and French gold and silver for Ruhannah, he knocked at thestateroom door of the Princess Mistchenka.
That lively personage opened it, came out into the corridor holdingthe door partly closed behind her.
"She's almost dead with fatigue and grief. I undressed her myself.She's in my bed. She has been crying."
"Poor little thing," said Neeland.
"Yes."
"Here's her money," he said, a little awkwardly.
The Princess opened her wrist bag and he dumped in the shiningtorrent.
"Shall I--call good-bye to her?" he asked.
"You may go in, James."
They entered together; and he was startled to see how young she seemedthere on the pillows--how pitifully immature the childish throat, thetear-flushed face lying in its mass of chestnut hair.
"Good-bye, Rue," he said, still awkward, offering his hand.
Slowly she held out one slim hand from the covers.
"Good voyage, good luck," he said. "I wish you would write a line tome."
"I will."
"Then----" He smiled; released her hand.
"Thank you for--for all you have done," she said. "I shall notforget."
Something choked him slightly; he forced a laugh:
"Come back a famous painter, Rue. Keep your head clear and your heartfull of courage. And let me know how you're getting on, won't you?"
"Yes.... Good-bye."
So he went out, and at the door exchanged adieux with the smilingPrincess.
"Do you--like her a little?" he whispered.
"I do, my friend. Also--I like you. I am old enough to say it safely,am I not?"
"If you think so," he said, a funny little laugh in his eyes, "you areold enough to let me kiss you good-bye."
But she backed away, still smiling:
"On the brow--the hair--yes; if you promise discretion, James."
"What has tottering age like yours to do with discretion, PrincessNaia?" he retorted impudently. "A kiss on the mouth must of itself bediscreet when bestowed on youth by such venerable years as areyours."
But the Princess, the singularly provocative smile still edging herlips, merely looked at him out of dark and slightly humorous eyes,gave him her hand, withdrew it with decision, and entered herstateroom, closing the door rather sharply behind her.
* * * * *
When Neeland got back to the studio he took a couple of hours' sleep,and, being young, perfectly healthy, and perhaps not unaccustomed tothe habits of the owl family, felt pretty well when he went out tobreakfast.
Over his coffee cup he propped up his newspaper against a carafe; andthe heading on one of the columns immediately attracted hisattention.
ROW BETWEEN SPORTING MEN
EDDIE BRANDES, FIGHT PROMOTER AND THEATRICAL MAN, MIXES IT WITH MAXY VENEM
A WOMAN SAID TO BE THE CAUSE: AFFRAY DRAWS A BIG CROWD IN FRONT OF THE HOTEL KNICKERBOCKER
BOTH MEN, BADLY BATTERED, GET AWAY BEFORE THE POLICE ARRIVE
Breakfasting leisurely, he read the partly humorous, partlycontemptuous account of the sordid affair. Afterward he sent for allthe morning papers. But in none of them was Ruhannah Carew mentionedat all, nobody, apparently, having noticed her in the exciting affairbetween Venem, Brandes, the latter's wife, and the chauffeur.
Nor did the evening papers add anything material to the account,except to say that Brandes had been interviewed in his office at theSilhouette Theatre and that he stated that he had not engaged in anypersonal encounter with anybody, had not seen Max Venem in months, hadnot been near the Hotel Knickerbocker, and knew nothing about theaffair in question.
He also permitted a dark hint or two to escape him concerning possiblesuits for defamation of character against irresponsible newspapers.
The accounts in the various evening editions agreed, however, thatwhen interviewed, Mr. Brandes was nursing a black eye and a badlyswollen lip, which, according to him, he had acquired in a playfulsparring encounter with his business manager, Mr. Benjamin Stull.
And that was all; the big town had neither time nor inclination tonotice either Brandes or Venem any further; Broadway completed thestory for its own edification, and, by degrees, arrived at its ownconclusions. Only nobody could discover who was the young girlconcerned, or where she came from or what might be her name. And,after a few days, Broadway, also, forgot the matter amid the tarnishedtinsel and raucous noises of its own mean and multifariouspreoccupations.
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