The Crimson Tide Part 44

They walked to the foggy street together. Shotwell said bitterly:

"I do care for Palla. I like Ilse. All the women one encounters at Palla's parties are gay, accomplished, clever, piquant. The men also are more or less amusing. The conversation is never dull. Everybody seems to be well bred, sincere, friendly and agreeable. But there's something lacking. One feels it even before one is enlightened concerning the ultra-modernism of these admittedly interesting people.

And I'll tell you what it is. Actually, deep in their souls, they don't believe in themselves.

"Take Palla. She says there is no G.o.d--no divinity except in herself.

And I tell you she may think she believes it, but she doesn't.

"And her school-girl creed--Love and Service! Fine. Only there's a prior law--self-preservation; and another--race preservation! By G.o.d, how are you going to love and serve if girls stop having babies?

"And as for this silly condemnation of the marriage ceremony, merely because some sanctified Uncle Foozle once inserted the word 'obey' in it--just because, under the marriage laws, tyranny and cruelty have been practised--what callow rot!

"Laws can be changed; divorce made simple and non-scandalous as it should be; all rights safeguarded for the woman; and still have something legal and recognised by one of those necessary conventions which make civilisation possible.

"But this irresponsible idea of procedure through mere inclination--this sauntering through life under no law to safeguard and govern, except the law of personal preference--that's anarchy! That code spells demoralisation, degeneracy and disaster!... And the whole d.a.m.ned thing to begin again--a slow development of the human race, once more, out of the chaos of utter barbarism."

Estridge, standing there on the sidewalk in the fog, smiled:

"You're very eloquent, Jim. Why don't you say all this to Palla?"

"I did. I told her, too, that the root of the whole thing was selfishness. And it is. It's a refusal to play the game according to rule. There are only two s.e.xes and one of 'em is fashioned to bear young, and the other is fashioned to hustle for mother and kid. You can't alter that, whether it's fair or not. It's the game as we found it. The rules were already provided for playing it. The legal father and mother are supposed to look out for their own legal progeny. And any alteration of this rule, with a view to irresponsible mating and turning the offspring over to the community to take care of, would create an unhuman race, unconscious of the highest form of love--the love for parents.

"A fine lot we'd be as an incubated race!"

Estridge laughed: "I've got to go," he said, "And, if you care for Palla as you say you do, you oughtn't to leave her entirely alone with her circle of modernist friends. Stick around! It may make you mad, but if she likes you, at least she won't commit an indiscretion with anybody else."

"I wish I could find my own sort as amusing," said Jim, navely. "I've been going about recently--dances, dinners, theatres--but I can't seem to keep my mind off Palla."

Estridge said: "If you'd give your sense of humour half a chance you'd be all right. You take yourself too solemnly. You let Palla scare you.

That's not the way. The thing to do is to have a jolly time with her, with them all. Accept her as she thinks she is. There's no damage done yet. Time enough to throw fits if she takes the bit and bolts----"

He extended his hand, cordially but impatiently:

"You remember I once said that girl ought to be married and have children? If you do the marrying part she's likely to do the rest very handsomely. And it will be the making of her."

Jim held on to his hand:

"Tell me what to do, Jack. She isn't in love with me. And she wouldn't submit to a legal ceremony if she were. You invoke my sense of humour.

I'm willing to give it an airing, only I can't see anything funny in this business."

"It _is_ funny! Palla's funny, but doesn't know it. You're funny!

They're all funny--unintentionally. But their motives are tragically immaculate. So stick around and have a good time with Palla until there's really something to scare you."

"And then?"

"How the devil do I know? It's up to you, of course, what you do about it."

He laughed and strode away through the fog.

It had seemed to Jim a long time since he had seen Palla. It wasn't very long. And in all that interminable time he had not once called her up on the telephone--had not even written her a single line. Nor had she written to him.

He had gone about his social business in his own circle, much to his mother's content. He had seen quite a good deal of Elorn Sharrow; was comfortably back on the old, agreeable footing; tried desperately to enjoy it; pretended that he did.

But the days were long in the office; the evenings longer, wherever he happened to be; and the nights, alas! were becoming interminable, now, because he slept badly, and the grey winter daylight found him unrefreshed.

Which, recently, had given him a slightly battered appearance, commented on jestingly by young rakes and old sports at the Patroon's Club, and also observed by his mother with gentle concern.

"Don't overdo it, Jim," she cautioned him, meaning dances that ended with breakfasts and that sort of thing. But her real concern was vaguer than that--deeper, perhaps. And sometimes she remembered the girl in black.

Lately, however, that anxiety had been almost entirely allayed. And her comparative peace of mind had come about in an unexpected manner.

For, one morning, entering the local Red Cross quarters, where for several hours she was accustomed to sew, she encountered Mrs.

Speedwell and her lively daughter, Connie--her gossiping informants concerning her son's appearance at Delmonico's with the mysterious girl in black.

"Well, what do you suppose, Helen?" said Mrs. Speedwell, mischievously.

"Jim's pretty mystery in black is here!"

"Here?" repeated Mrs. Shotwell, flushing and looking around her at the rows of prophylactic ladies, all sewing madly side by side.

"Yes, and she's prettier even than I thought her in Delmonico's,"

remarked Connie. "Her name is Palla Dumont, and she's a friend of Leila Vance."

During the morning, Mrs. Shotwell found it convenient to speak to Leila Vance; and they exchanged a pleasant word or two--merely the amiable civilities of two women who recognise each other socially as well as personally.

And it happened in that way, a few days later, that Helen Shotwell met this pretty friend of Leila Vance--Palla Dumont--the girl in black.

And Palla had looked up from her work with her engaging smile, saying: "I know your son, Mrs. Shotwell. Is he quite well? I haven't seen him for such a long time."

And instantly the invisible antennae of these two women became busy exploring, probing, searching, and recognising in each other all that remains forever incomprehensible to man.

For Palla somehow understood that Jim had never spoken of her to his mother; and yet that his mother had heard of her friendship with her son.

And Helen knew that Palla was quietly aware of this, and that the girl's equanimity remained undisturbed.

Only people quite sure of themselves preserved serenity under the merciless exploration of the invisible feminine antennae. And it was evident that the girl in black had nothing to conceal from her in regard to her only son--whatever that same son might think he ought to make an effort to conceal from his mother.

To herself Helen thought: "Jim has had his wings singed, and has fled the candle."

To Palla she said: "Mrs. Vance tells me such interesting stories of your experiences in Russia. Really, it's like a charming romance--your friendship for the poor little Grand d.u.c.h.ess."

"A tragic one," said Palla in a voice so even that Helen presently lifted her eyes from her sewing to read in her expression something more than the mere words that this young girl had uttered. And saw a still, pale face, sensitive and very lovely; and the needle flying over a bandage no whiter than the hand that held it.

"It was a great shock to you--her death," said Helen.

"Yes."