Possessed Part 13

"Dora was a pretty, frail looking girl--but really as strong as a horse," began Bobby gleefully, "one of those tall blondes who can pa.s.s off for aristocrats without being the real thing. She came from a small Southern town and had married a man who was no good. He drank and chased after women; and, in one of his drunken fits, he was run over on a dark night at the railroad crossing--fortunately."

Penelope stirred uneasily at the memories in her own life conjured up by this picture.

"Dora had the usual small town collection of wedding cut gla.s.s and doilies, which she put away in the attic, after husband's decease; and, with them, she also put away all respect and desire for the married state. She was through with domesticity and all that it represented, and made up her mind to devote the rest of her life to earning as big a salary as she could and having the best time possible."

The rest of the story was a sordid account of this girl's effort to combine business with pleasure, as men do, and of her startled discovery one day, just at the moment of her greatest success--she had been offered the position of head designer in a wholesale dress house with coveted trips to Europe--that she was about to become a mother.

Penelope sighed wearily as she listened. Could she _never_ escape from this eternal s.e.x theme?

"You see," Bobby rattled on, "Dora knew she couldn't go to roof gardens and supper parties alone, and she couldn't keep a chap on a string without paying--so she paid. Of course she camouflaged this part of her life very daintily, as she did everything else, but going out evenings was as important to her as her business ambition was."

Mrs. Wells smiled faintly at the word camouflaged, for she knew better than anyone else that this supposed story of a dressmaker was really the story of Roberta Vallis herself, thinly disguised.

"The point is that after years of living exactly like a man," Miss Vallis became a shade more serious here and a note of defiance crept into her discourse, "with work and pleasure travelling along side by side, Dora was called upon to face a situation that would have brought her gay and prosperous career to a sad and shameful end in any well-constructed Sunday School book; but please notice that it did nothing of the sort in real life. Did she lose her job? She did not. Or her health or reputation? Nothing like that. After she got over the first shock of surprise Dora decided to go through with the thing, and, being tall and thin, got away with it successfully. No one suspected that the illness which kept her away from her work was anything but influenza, and--well, the child didn't live," she concluded abruptly as she caught Seraphine's disapproving glance. "The point is that Dora is today one of the most successful business women in Boston."

A challenge to outraged virtue was in her tone, and all eyes turned instinctively to the psychic who was still rocking placidly.

"Poor woman!" Seraphine said simply, which seemed to annoy Miss Vallis.

"Why do you say that? Why is she a poor woman? She has everything she wants."

"No! No indeed," was the grave reply. "She has nothing that she really wants. She has cut herself off from the operation of G.o.d's love. She is surrounded by forces that--Oh!" the medium's eyes closed for a moment and she drew a long breath, "my control tells me these forces of evil--they will destroy this girl."

Roberta essayed to answer mockingly, but the words died on her lips, and there fell a moment of shivery silence until Kendall Brown broke the spell.

"That story of Dora is a precious human doc.u.ment," was the poet's ponderous p.r.o.nouncement. "It is unpleasant, painful, but--what is the lesson? The lesson is that infinite trouble grows out of our rotten squeamishness about s.e.x facts. This girl craved a reasonable amount of pleasure after her work, and she got it. She refused to spend her evenings alone in her room reading a book. She wanted to dance, to enjoy the society of men--their intimate society. That brings us to the oldest and most resistless force in the world, a blessed force, a G.o.d-given force upon which all life depends--you know what I mean. And how do we deal with this most formidable of forces? Are we grateful for it? Do we acknowledge its irresistible supremacy? No! We deal with it by pretending that it doesn't exist. We say to Friend Dora that, being unmarried, she has nothing whatever to do with s.e.x attraction, except to forget it. Does she forget it? She does not. Do the men allow her to forget it? They do not. And one fine day Friend Dora has a baby and everybody says horrible, disgraceful! Rubbish! I maintain that the state should provide homes and proper care for the children we call illegitimate! What a word! I say _all_ children are legitimate, all mothers should be honored, yes, and financially protected. A woman who gives a child to the nation, regardless of who the father is, renders a distinguished service. She is a public benefactor."

"Hear, hear!" approved several, but the little grey-haired woman objected that this meant free love, whereupon Kendall was off again on his hobby.

"Love _is_ free, it always has been and always will be free. If you chain love down under smug rules you only kill it or distort it. I am not arguing against marriage, but against hypocrisy. We may as well recognize that s.e.x desire is so strong a force in the world--that--"

To all of this Penelope had listened with ill-concealed aversion, now she could no longer restrain her impatience. "Ridiculous!" she interrupted. "You exasperate me with your talk about the compelling claims of overs.e.xed individuals. Let them learn to behave themselves and control themselves."

"Mrs. Wells is absolutely right," agreed Captain Herrick quietly, his eyes challenging Brown. "If certain men insist on behaving like orang-outangs in the jungle, then society should treat them as orang-outangs."

This incisive statement somewhat jarred the poet's self-sufficiency and he subsided for the moment, but jealousy is a cunning adversary and the rival awaited his opportunity for counter-attack.

As the discussion proceeded Kendall noticed that one of the loose pages from Penelope's diary had fluttered to the floor and, recovering this, he glanced at it carelessly, then smiled as he plucked at his yellow beard.

"Excuse me, Mrs. Wells," he said. "I could not help reading a few words.

Won't you go on with your confession--please do. It sounds so wonderfully interesting. See--there--at the bottom!" He pointed to the lines.

"Oh!" she murmured as she saw the writing, and two spots of color burned in her cheeks. "Let me have it--I insist!"

"Certainly. But do read it to us. This is a real human interest story.

_'Let me bow my head in shame and humble my spirit in the dust'_--wasn't that it?" laughed Kendall maliciously.

At this, seeing the frightened look in Penelope's eyes, Captain Herrick stormed in: "You had no right to read those words or repeat them."

"I am sorry, Mrs. Wells. I meant no offense," apologized the poet, realizing that he had gone too far, but the harm was done. Something unaccountably serious had happened to Penelope Wells. Her face had gone deathly white, and Roberta, suddenly sympathetic, hastened to her.

"It's a shame to tease you, dearie. No more confession stuff. Now, folks, we'll have supper--down in the restaurant. Then we'll dance. Come on! Feeling better, Pen? What you need is a c.o.c.ktail and some champagne."

But Penelope lay like a stricken creature, her beautiful head limp against the pillow of her chair, her eyes filled with pain.

"I--I'll be all right in a minute, Bobby," she whispered. "Please go down now--all of you except Captain Herrick. We'll join you--a little later. You don't mind?" she turned to Herrick who was bending over her anxiously. Then she said softly: "Don't leave me, Chris. I don't feel quite like myself. I'm a little frightened."

CHAPTER X

FAUVETTE

Thus it happened that Penelope and Captain Herrick did not descend to the flower-spread supper room where dancing and good cheer awaited the gay company, but remained in Roberta's black and gold apartment, two lovers swept along by powers of fate far beyond their control, and now facing the greatest emotional moment of their lives.

The catastrophe came gradually, yet at the end with startling suddenness.

At first, when they were alone, Penelope seemed to recover from her distress and began to talk naturally and serenely, as if her preceding agitations were forgotten. She told Christopher that Dr. Owen's wise counsels had rea.s.sured her, and she now felt confident that her bad dreams and other disturbing symptoms would soon leave her.

"You see something has conquered all my sadness, all my fears," she looked at him shyly.

For a moment he sat motionless, drinking in her splendid beauty, then he leaned towards her impulsively and spoke one word that carried all the devotion of his soul: "Penelope!"

"Dear boy!" she murmured, her voice thrilling, and a moment later he had clasped her in his arms.

"You're mine! You love me! Thank G.o.d!"

But she disengaged herself gently, there was something she wished to say. She would not deny her love, her great love for him. She realized that she had loved him from the first. Her resistance had been part of her illness--it was not coquetry, he must not think that. Now her eyes were opened and her heart was singing with joy. She was the happiest woman in the world at the thought that she was to be his wife.

"My darling! How I love you!" exclaimed Christopher, drawing her towards him, his lips seeking hers.

"No--no," Penelope's voice was so serious, so full of alarm that her lover instantly obeyed. He drew away from her with a hurt, puzzled expression in his eyes. Very gravely Penelope went on. "I love you, too, my darling, but I must ask you to make me a solemn promise. I shall be most unhappy if you refuse. I want you to promise not to kiss me,--as--as lovers kiss, pa.s.sionately, ardently, until after we are married."

"But, Pen, you--can't mean that seriously?"

With a wistful little smile she a.s.sured him that she did mean it most seriously.

In vain he protested. "But why? It's so absurd! Why shouldn't I kiss you when I love you better than anything in the world."

"Chris, please, _please_ don't talk like that. You must trust me and do what I ask. You must, dear!"

A pathetic earnestness in her tone and a strange look in her eyes made Christopher forget his privileges, and he made the promise.

"Thank you, dear. Now I must tell you something else," she went on. "I must explain why I was so disturbed when Kendall Brown read those words from my diary. I _must_ tell you what they meant."

But a masterful gesture from Herrick stopped her. He did not wish to know anything about this. He trusted her entirely, he approved of her entirely, they must never speak of these old sad things again.