The Branding Iron Part 22

Woodward Kane withheld it and again that look of pleasure was visible in his eyes. "Just a moment, please. I should like to have my own say out first. I shall have to be brutal, I am afraid. In these matters there is nothing for it but frankness. Your infidelity has been common talk for some time. The story of it first came to Betty's ears on the evening when she came to me two months ago. Since then there has been but one possible course."

Jasper kept another silence, more difficult, however, than his last.

His pallor was noticeable. "You say my--infidelity is common talk.

There has been a name used?"

"Your protegee from Wyoming--Jane West."

Jasper was on his feet, and Woodward too rose, jerkily holding up a hand. "No excitement, please," he begged. "Let us conduct this unfortunate interview like gentlemen, if possible."

Jasper laughed. "As you say--if possible. Why, man, it was Betty who helped me bring Miss West to New York, it was Betty who helped me to install her here, it was Betty who chose the furnishings for her apartment, who helped her buy her clothes, who engaged her maid, who gave her most of her training. This is the most preposterous, the most filthy perversion of the truth. Betty must know it better than any one else. Come, now, Woodward, there's something more in it than this?"

Jasper had himself in hand, but it was easy now to see the effort it cost him. The veins of his forehead were swollen.

"I shall not discuss the matter with you. Betty has excellent evidence, unimpeachable witnesses. There is no doubt in my mind, nor in the minds of her lawyers, that she will win her suit and get her divorce, her release. Of course, you will not contest--"

Jasper stopped in his pacing which had begun to take the curious, circling, weaving form characteristic of him, and, standing now with his head thrown back, he spoke sonorously.

"Do you imagine for one instant, Kane,--does Betty imagine for one instant,--that I shall not contest?"

This changed the look of cold pleasure in Woodward's eyes, which grew blank again. "Do you mean me to understand--Naturally, I took it for granted that you would act as most gentlemen act under the circ.u.mstances."

"Then you have taken too much for granted, you and Betty. Ten years ago your sister gave herself to me. She is mine. I will not for a whim, for a pa.s.sion, for a temporary alienation, let her go. Neither will I have my good name and the name of a good woman besmirched for the sake of this impertinent desire for a release. I love my wife"--his voice was especially Hebraic and especially abhorrent to the other--"and as a husband I mean to keep her from the ruin this divorce would mean to her--"

"Far from being her ruin, Morena, it would be the saving of her. Her ruin was as nearly as possible brought about ten years ago, when against the advice, against the wishes of every one who loved her, she made her insane marriage with an underbred, commercial, and licentious Jew. She was seventeen and you seized your opportunity."

Jasper had stepped close. He was a head taller and several inches broader of shoulder than his brother-in-law. "As long as you are in my house, don't insult me. I am, as you say, a Jew, and I am, as you say, of a commercial family. But I am not, I have never been licentious. Is it necessary to use such language? You suggested that this interview be conducted by us like gentlemen."

"The man who refuses to give her liberty to a wife that loathes him, scarcely comes under the definition."

"My ideas on the matter are different. We need not discuss them. If you will let me read my wife's letter, I think that we can come to an end of this."

Woodward unwillingly surrendered the small, gray envelope to a quivering, outstretched hand. Jasper turned away and stood near the lamp. But his excitement prevented him from reading. The angular writing jumped before his eyes. At last, the words straightened themselves.

I am glad that you have given me this opportunity to escape from a life that for a long time has been dreadful to me. Ten years ago I made a disaster of my life and yours. Forgive me if you can and let me escape. I will not see you again. Whatever you may have to say, please say it to Woodward. From now on he is my protector. In other matters there are my lawyers. It is absolutely not to be thought of that I should speak to you. I hope never to see you alone. I want you to hate me and this note ought to make it easy for you.

Betty

Jasper stared at the name. He was utterly bewildered, utterly staggered, by the amazing dissimulation practiced by this small, soft-lipped, round-eyed girl who had lived with him for so long, sufficiently pliable, sufficiently agreeable. What was back of it all?

Another man, of course. In imagination he was examining the faces of his acquaintances, narrowing his lids as though the real men pa.s.sed in review before him.

"Perhaps you understand the situation better now?" asked Woodward cruelly.

Jasper's intense pain and humiliation gave him a sort of calm. He seemed entirely cool when he moved back toward his brother-in-law; his eyes were clear, the heat had gone from his temples. He was even smiling a little, though there was a white, even frame to his lips.

"I shall not write to Betty nor attempt to see her," he said quietly.

"But I shall ask you to take a message to her."

Woodward a.s.sented.

"Tell her she shall have her release, but to get it she will have to walk through the mire and there will be no one waiting for her on the other side. Can you remember that? Not even you will be there." He was entirely self-a.s.sured so that Woodward felt a chill of dismay.

"I shall contest the suit," went on Jasper, "and I believe that I shall win it. You may tell Betty so if you like or she can wait to hear it from my lawyer." He put the envelope into his pocket, crossed the room, and held back one of the crimson curtains of the door.

"If you have nothing more to say," he smiled, "neither have I.

Good-bye."

He bowed slightly, and Woodward found himself pa.s.sing before him in silence and some confusion. He stood for a moment in the hall and, having stammered his way to a cold "Good-afternoon," he put on his hat and went out.

Jasper returned to the empty drawing-room and began his weaving march.

Before he could begin his spinning which he hoped would entangle Betty and leave her powerless for him to hold or to release at will, he must go to Jane West and tell her what trick life with his help had played upon her. The prospect was bitterly distasteful. Jasper accused himself of selfishness. Because she cared nothing for the world, was a creature apart, he had let the world think what it would. He knew that an askance look would not hurt her; for himself, secure in innocence, he did not care; for Betty, he had thought her cruelly certain of him.

He went to Jane the day after his interview with Woodward Kane. It was Sunday afternoon. She was out, but came in very soon, and he stood up to meet her with an air of confusion and guilt.

"What's the matter with you?" she asked, pulling her gloves from her long hands.

Her quickly observant eyes swept him. She walked to him and stood near. The frosty air was still about her and her face was lightly stung to color with exercise. Her wild eyes were startling under the brim of her smart, tailored hat.

Jasper put a hand on either of her shoulders and bent his head before her. "My poor child--if I'd only left you in your kitchen!"

Joan tightened her lips, then smiled uncertainly. "You've got me scared," she said, stepped back and sat down, her hands in her m.u.f.f.

"What is it?" she asked; and in that moment of waiting she was sickly reminded of other moments in her life--of the nearing sound of Pierre's webs on a crystal winter night, of the sound of Prosper's footsteps going away from her up the mountain trail on a swordlike, autumn morning.

Jasper began his pacing. Feeling carefully for delicate phrases, he told her Betty's accusation, of her purpose.

Joan took off her hat, pushed back the hair from her forehead; then, as he came to the end, she looked up at him. Her pupils were larger than usual and the light, frosty tint of rose had left her cheeks.

"Would you mind telling me that again?" she asked.

He did so, more explicitly.

"She thinks, Betty thinks, that I have been--that we have been--? She thinks that of me? No wonder she hasn't been coming to see me!" She stopped, staring blindly at him; then, "You must tell her it isn't true," she said pitifully, and the quiver of her lips hurt him.

"Ah! But she doesn't want to believe that, my dear. She wants to believe the worst. It is her opportunity to escape me."

"Haven't you loved her? Have you hurt her?" asked Joan.

"G.o.d knows I have loved her. I have never hurt her--consciously. Even she cannot think that I have."

"Why must she blame me? Why do I have to be brought into this, Mr.

Morena? Can't she go away from you? Why do the lawyers have to take it up? You are unhappy, and I am so sorry. But you wouldn't want her to stay if--if she doesn't love you?"

"I want her. I mean to keep her or--break her." He turned his back to say this and went toward the window. Joan, fascinated, watched his fingers working into one another, tightening, crushing. "It's another man she wants," he said hoa.r.s.ely, "and if I can prevent it, she shall not have him. I will force her to keep her vows to me--force her. If it kills her, I'll break this pa.s.sion, this fancy. I'll have her back--" He wheeled round, showing a twitching face. "I'll prove her infidelity whether she's been unfaithful or not, and then I'll take her back, after the world has given her one of its names--"

"You don't love her," said Joan, very white. "You want to brand her."

"By G.o.d!" swore the Jew, "and I will brand her. I'll brand her."

He fumbled in his pocket and brought out the small envelope Woodward Kane had handed to him the day before. He stood turning the letter about in his hands as though some such meaningless occupation was a necessity to him. Joan's eyes, falling upon the letter, widened and fixed.