Part 37 (1/2)

”How should I talk? What should I say? Is it of any use to speak to him?

Do you think I have not begged him, implored him, besought him, almost on my knees, to give up that work and do other things?”

Griggs looked straight into her eyes a moment and then almost understood what she meant.

”You mean that he--that when he is painting there--” He hesitated.

”Of course. All day long. All the bitter live-long day! They sit there together on pretence of talking about it. You know--you can guess at least--it is the old, old story, and I have to suffer for it. She could not marry him--because she is a princess and he an artist--good enough for me--G.o.d knows, I love him! Too good for her, ten thousand times too good! But yet not good enough for her to marry! He needed a wife, and she brought us together, and I suppose he told her that I should do very well for the purpose. I was a good subject. I fell in love with him--that was what they wanted. A wife for her favourite! O G.o.d! When I think of it--”

She stopped suddenly and buried her face in both her hands, as she leaned upon the piano.

”It is not to be believed!” The strong man's voice vibrated with the rising storm of anger.

She looked up again with flas.h.i.+ng eyes and pale cheeks.

”No!” she cried. ”It is not to be believed! But you see it now. You see what it all is, and how my life is wrecked and ruined before it is half begun. It would be bad enough if I had married him for his fame, for his face, for his money, for anything he has or could have. But I married him because I loved him with all my soul, and wors.h.i.+pped him and everything he did.”

”I know. We all saw it.”

”Of course--was it anything to hide? And I thought he loved me, too. Do you know?” She grew more calm. ”At first I used to go and sit in the hall when he was at work. Then he grew silent, and I felt that he did not want me. I thought it was because he was such a great artist, and could not talk and work, and wanted to be alone. So I stayed away. Then, once, I went there, and she was there, sitting in that great chair--it shows off the innocence of her white face, you know! The innocence of it!” Gloria laughed bitterly. ”They were talking when I came, and they stopped as soon as the door opened. I am sure they were talking about me. Then they seemed dreadfully uncomfortable, and she went away. After that I went several times. Once or twice she came in while I was there.

Then she did not come any more. He must have told her, of course. He kept looking at the door, though, as if he expected her at any moment.

But she never came again in those days. I could not bear it--his trying to talk to me, and evidently wis.h.i.+ng all the time that she would come. I gave up going altogether at last. What could I do? It was unbearable. It was more than flesh and blood could stand.”

”I do not wonder that you hate her,” said Griggs. ”I have often thought you did.”

Gloria smiled sadly.

”Yes,” she answered. ”I hate her with all my heart. She has robbed me of the only thing I ever had worth having--if I ever had it. I sometimes wonder--or rather, no. I do not wonder, for I know the truth well enough. I have been over and over it again and again in the night. He never loved me. He never could love any one but her. He knew her long ago, and has loved her all his life. Why should he put me in her place?

He admired me. I was a beautiful plaything--no, not beautiful--” She paused.

”You are the most beautiful woman in the world,” said Paul Griggs, with deep conviction.

He saw the blush of pleasure in her face, saw the fluttering of the lids. But he neither knew that she had meant him to say it, nor did he judge of the vast gulf her mind must have instantaneously bridged, from the outpouring of her fancied injuries and of her hatred for Francesca Campodonico, to the unconcealable satisfaction his words gave her.

”I have heard him say that, too,” she answered a moment later. ”But he did not mean it. He never meant anything he said to me--not one word of it all. You do not know what that means,” she went on, working herself back into a sort of despairing anger again. ”You do not know. To have built one's whole life on one thing, as I did! To have believed only one thing, as I did! To find that it is all gone, all untrue, all a wretched piece of acting--oh, you do not know! That woman's face haunts me in the dark--she is always there, with him, wherever I look, as they are together now at her house. Do you understand? Do you know what I feel?

You pity me--but do you know? Oh, I have longed for some one--I have wished I had a dog to listen to me--sometimes--it is so hard to be alone--so very hard--”

She broke off suddenly and hid her face again.

”You are not alone. You have me--if you will have me.”

Before he had finished speaking the few words, the first sob broke, violent, real, uncontrollable. Then came the next, and then the storm of tears. Griggs rose instinctively and came to her side. He leaned heavily on the piano, bending down a little, helpless, as some men are at such moments. She did not notice him, and her sobs filled the still room. As he stood over her he could see the bright tears falling upon the black and white ivory keys. He laid his trembling hand upon her shoulder. He could hardly draw his breath for the sight of her suffering.

”Don't--don't,” he said, almost pathetic in his lack of eloquence when he thought he most needed it.

One of her hot hands, all wet with tears, went suddenly to her shoulder, and grasped his that lay there, with a convulsive pressure, seeming to draw him down as she bowed herself almost to the keyboard in her agony of weeping. Then, without thought, his other hand, cold as ice, was under her throat, bringing her head gently back upon his arm, till the white face was turned up to his. Sob by sob, more distantly, the tempest subsided, but still the great tears swelled the heavy lids and ran down across her face upon his wrist. Then the wet, dark eyes opened and looked up to his, above her head.

”Be my friend!” she said softly, and her fingers pressed his very gently.

He looked down into her eyes for one moment, and then the pa.s.sion in him got the mastery of his honourable soul.