The Destroying Angel Part 48

"To the contrary; but I sail day after to-morrow for Australia."

"Oh? That's very sudden, isn't it? You don't seem to have done any packing. Or perhaps you mean to come back before a great while?"

"I shan't come back, ever."

"Must I believe you made up your mind this morning?"

"I have only just read the announcement of your opening to-morrow night."

"Then ... I am driving you out of the country?"

Her look was impersonal and curious. He prided himself that he was managing his temper admirably--at least until he discovered that he had, inexplicably, no temper to speak of; that he, in fact, suffered mostly from what seemed to be nothing more than annoyance at being hindered in making the necessary arrangements against his departure.

His shoulders moved negligently. "Not to rant about it," he replied: "I find I am not needed here."

"Oh, dear!" Her lips formed a fugitive, petulant moue: "And it's my fault?"

"There's no use mincing matters, is there? I am not heartbroken, and if I am bitterly disappointed I don't care to--in fact, I lack the ability--to dramatize it."

"You are taking it well, Hugh," said she, critical.

Expressionless, he waited an instant before inquiring pointedly: "Well...?"

Deliberately laying aside her light m.u.f.f, her scarf and hand-bag, she rose: equality of poise was impossible if he would persist in standing.

She moved a little nearer, examining his face closely, shook her head, smiled almost diffidently, and gave a helpless gesture.

"Hugh," she said in a voice of sincerity, "I'm awfully sorry--truly I am!"

He made no reply; waited.

"Perhaps I'm wrong," she went on, "but I think most women would have spared themselves this meeting--"

"Themselves and the man," he interjected dryly.

"Don't be cross, Hugh.... I had to come. I had to explain myself. I wanted you to understand. Hugh, I--" She was twisting her hands together with a manner denoting great mental strain. Of a sudden she checked and dropped them, limp and open by her sides. "You see," she said with the apologetic smile, "I'm _trying_ not to act."

"Oh," he said in a tone of dawning comprehension--"so that's it!"

"I'm afraid so, Hugh.... I'm dreadfully sorry for you--poor boy!--but I'm afraid that's the trouble with me, and it can never be helped.

I was born with a talent for acting; life has made me an actress.

Hugh ... I've found out something." Her eyes appealed wistfully. "I'm not genuine."

He nodded interestedly.

"I'm just an actress, an instrument for the music of emotions. I've been trained to respond, until now I respond without knowing it, when there's no true response here." She touched the bosom of her frock.

He said nothing.

With a half sigh she moved away to the window, and before she spoke again posed herself very effectively there, looking out over the park while she cleared her mind.

"Of course, you despise me. I despise myself--I mean, the self that was me before I turned from a woman into an actress. But it's the truth: I have no longer any real capacity for emotion, merely an infinite capacity for appreciation of the artistic delineation of emotion, true or feigned. That ... that is why, when you showed me you had grown to love me so, I responded so quickly. You _were_ in love--more honestly than I had ever seen love revealed. It touched me. I was proud to have inspired such a love. I wanted, for the time being, to have you with me always, that I might always study the wonderful, the beautiful manifestations of your love. Why, Hugh, you even managed to make me believe I was worth it--that my response was sufficient repayment for your adoration...."

He said nothing. She glanced furtively at him and continued:

"I meant to be sweet and faithful when I left that note for you on the yacht, Hugh; I was grateful, and I meant to be generous.... But when I went to the Waldorf, the first person I met was Max. Of course I had to tell him what had happened. And then he threw himself upon my compa.s.sion. It seems that losing me had put him in the most terrible trouble about money. He was short, and he couldn't get the backing he needed without me, his call upon my services, by way of a.s.surance to his backers. And I began to think. I knew I didn't love you honestly, Hugh, and that life with you would be a living lie. What right had I to deceive you that way, just to gratify my love of being loved? And especially if by doing that I ruined Max, the man to whom, next to you, I owed everything? I couldn't do it. But I took time to think it over--truly I did. I really did go to a sanatorium, and rested there while I turned the whole matter over carefully in my mind, and at length reached my decision to stick by Max and let you go, free to win the heart of a woman worthy of you."

She paused again, but still he was mute and immobile.

"So now you know me--what I am. No other man has ever known or ever will. But I had to tell you the truth. It seems that the only thing my career had left uncalloused was my fundamental sense of honesty. So I had to come and tell you."

And still he held silence, attentive, but with a set face that betrayed nothing of the tenor of his thoughts.

Almost timidly, with nervously fumbling fingers, she extracted from her pocket-book a small ticket envelope.

"Max was afraid you might upset the performance again, as you did on my last appearance, Hugh," she said; "but I a.s.sured him it was just the shock of recognizing you that bowled me over. So I've bought you a box for to-morrow night. I want you to use it--you and Mr. Ember."

He broke in with a curt monosyllable: "Why?"

"Why--why because--because I want you--I suppose it's simply my vanity--to see me act. Perhaps you'll feel a little less hardly toward me if you see that I am really a great actress, that I give you up for something bigger than just love--"

"What rot!" he said with an odd, short laugh. "Besides, I harbour no resentment."

She stared, losing a little colour, eyes darkening with apprehension.

"I did hope you'd come," she murmured.

"Oh, I'll come," he said with spirit. "Wild horses couldn't keep me away."

"Really, Hugh? And you don't mind? Oh, I'm _glad_!"

"I really don't mind," he a.s.sured her with a strange smile.

"But ... would you mind excusing me one moment? I've forgotten something very important."

"Why, certainly...."

He was already at the telephone in the hallway, just beyond the living-room door. It was impossible to escape overhearing his words. The woman listened perforce with, in the beginning, a little visible wonder, then with astonishment, ultimately with a consternation that shook her with violent tremblings.

"h.e.l.lo," said Whitaker; "get me Rector two-two-hundred....

"h.e.l.lo? Rector two-two-hundred? North German Lloyd?... This is Mr. H. M.

Whitaker. I telephoned you fifteen minutes ago about a reservation on the _George Washington_, sailing Sat.u.r.day ... Yes.... Yes.... Yes, I promised to call for the ticket before noon, but I now find I shan't be able to go. Will you be kind enough to cancel it, if you please....

Thank you.... Good-by."

But when he turned back into the living-room he found awaiting him a quiet and collected woman, perhaps a thought more pale than when she had entered and with eyes that seemed a trifle darker; but on the whole positively the mistress of herself.

"Why did you do that?" she asked evenly.

"Because," said Whitaker, "I've had my eyes opened. I've been watching the finest living actress play a carefully rehea.r.s.ed role, one that she had given long study and all her heart to--but her interpretation didn't ring true. Mary, I admit, at first you got me: I believed you meant what you said. But only my mind believed it; my heart knew better, just as it has always known better, all through this wretched time of doubt and misery and separation you've subjected us both to. And that was why I couldn't trust myself to answer you; for if I had, I should have laughed for joy. O Mary, Mary!" he cried, his voice softening, "my dear, dear woman, you can't lie to love! You betray yourself in every dear word that would be heartless, in every adorable gesture that would seem final! And love knows better always.... Of course I shall be in that box to-morrow night; of course I shall be there to witness your triumph! And after you've won it, dear, I shall carry you off with me...."