Part 38 (1/2)

”Very little,” said Mrs. Brindley. ”But--”

”Don't try to soften it,” interrupted Mildred. ”The truth, the plain truth.”

”You've no right to draw me into this,” cried Cyrilla indignantly, and she started to leave the room.

”I want him to know,” said Mildred. ”And he wants to know.”

”I refuse to be drawn into it,” Cyrilla said, and disappeared.

But Mildred saw that Stanley had been shaken. She proceeded to explain to him at length what a singer's career meant--the hards.h.i.+ps, the drafts on health and strength, the absolute necessity of being reliable, of singing true, of not disappointing audiences--what a delicate throat meant--how delicate her throat was--how deficient she was in the kind of physical strength needed--muscular power with endurance back of it. When she finished he understood.

”I'd always thought of it as an art,” he said ruefully. ”Why, it's mostly health and muscles and things that have nothing to do with music.” He was dazed and offended by this uncovering of the mechanism of the art--by the discovery of the coa.r.s.e and painful toil, the grossly physical basis, of what had seemed to him all idealism. He had been full of the delusions of spontaneity and inspiration, like all laymen, and all artists, too, except those of the higher ranks--those who have fought their way up to the heights and, so, have learned that one does not achieve them by being caught up to them gloriously in a fiery cloud, but by doggedly and dirtily and sweatily toiling over every inch of the cruel climb.

He sat silent when she had finished. She waited, then said:

”Now, you see. I release you, and I'll take no more money to waste.”

He looked at her with dumb misery that smote her heart. Then his expression changed--to the s.h.i.+ning, hungry eyes, the swollen veins, the reddened countenance, the watering lips of desire. He seized her in his arms, and in a voice trembling with pa.s.sion, he cried: ”You must marry me, anyhow! I've GOT to have you, Mildred.”

If she had loved him, his expression, his impa.s.sioned voice would have thrilled her. But she did not love him. It took all her liking for him, and the memory of all she owed him--that unpaid debt!--to enable her to push him away gently and to say without any show of the repulsion she felt:

”Stanley, you mustn't do that. And it's useless to talk of marriage.

You're generous, so you are taking pity on me. But believe me, I'll get along somehow.”

”Pity? I tell you I love you,” he cried, catching desperately at her hands and holding them in a grip she could not break. ”You've no right to treat me like this.”

It was one of those veiled and stealthy reminders of obligation habitually indulged in by delicate people seeking repayment of the debt, but shunning the coa.r.s.eness of direct demand. Mildred saw her opportunity. Said she quietly:

”You mean you want me to give myself to you in payment, or part payment, for the money you've loaned me?”

He released her hands and sprang up. He had meant just that, but he had not had the courage, or the meanness, or both, to admit boldly his own secret wish. She had calculated on this--had calculated well.

”Mildred!” he cried in a shocked voice. ”YOU so lacking in delicacy as to say such a thing!”

”If you didn't mean that, Stanley, what DID you mean?”

”I was appealing to our friends.h.i.+p--our--our love for each other.”

”Then you should have waited until I was free.”

”Good G.o.d!” he cried, ”don't you see that's hopeless? Mildred, be sensible--be merciful.”

”I shall never marry a man when he could justly suspect I did it to live off him.”

”What an idea! It's a man's place to support a woman!”

”I was speaking only of myself. _I_ can't do it. And it's absurd for you and me to be talking about love and marriage when anyone can see I'd be marrying you only because I was afraid to face poverty and a struggle.”

Her manner calmed him somewhat. ”Of course it's obvious that you've got to have money,” said he, ”and that the only way you can get it is by marriage. But there's something else, too, and in my opinion it's the princ.i.p.al thing--we care for each other. Why not be sensible, Mildred? Why not thank G.o.d that as long as you have to marry, you can marry someone you care for.”

”Could you feel that I cared for you, if I married you now?” inquired she.