Part 28 (1/2)

Mariana laughed a little desperately.

”It reminds me of the time I saw a family move to the poor-house,” she said; ”only their friends weren't quite so affectionate.”

”But you will come back,” insisted Mr. Nevins. ”Surely you will come back when things look a little brighter.”

”Which will be when the flames of spontaneous combustion illuminate this planet,” remarked Ardly, cynically, but his eyes were sad as they rested upon Mariana.

”Or when a relation dies,” said Mr. Nevins.

”How we shall miss you!” said Miss Ramsey.

Here Mr. Paul, who had sauntered up as if by chance, drew Algarcife aside.

”If you had only told me,” he said, dryly. ”I have a few thousands in bank, and I--”

Anthony caught his hand, but his voice was choked and he could only shake his head. Then Mariana said good-bye, and they left the house and ascended the steps to the platform of the elevated road.

As Mariana took her seat, she turned to the window and watched the little fire-escape upon the fourth story until The Gotham was lost to sight. Then she raised her veil and wiped a tear-drop from her eyelashes.

When the door was unlocked and she entered the new room, a fit of restlessness seized her. The barrenness of existence struck her with the force of a blow, and, with a swift return of impulse, she cried out in rebellion. The stale odor of cooking, which rose from the apartment below, the dustiness of the floor, the blackened ceiling, the hard and unyielding bed, gave her a convulsive shudder.

”I cannot bear it,” she said. ”I cannot bear it.”

Algarcife left the window, where he had been standing, and came towards her. Between himself and Mariana a constraint had been growing, and he recalled suddenly the fact that their old warmth of intercourse had chilled into an indifferent reserve.

”It is bad,” he said. ”I am very sorry.”

Mariana took off her hat and veil and laid them in one of the bureau drawers. The drawer creaked as she opened it, and the sound jarred upon Anthony's overwrought sensitiveness. He noticed suddenly that Mariana's expression had grown querulous, and that she had ceased to wear her hair becomingly.

”You can hardly think that I enjoy it,” he added. ”An existence composed of two-thirds nerves and one-third caffeine is hardly rose-color.”

He looked gray and haggard, and the hand which he raised trembled slightly.

”Hardly,” returned Mariana, shortly.

Both felt an instinctive desire to vent their wretchedness in words, and yet each felt an almost pa.s.sionate pity for the other. The very pity emphasized the aggravation from which they suffered, and it was by a process of reflex action that, when goaded by thoughts of each other, they would strike out recklessly.

”No,” repeated Mariana; ”but it seems to be a case where two, instead of lessening the misery, increase the discomforts.”

Immediately after supper she went to bed, tossing restlessly for hours because the mattress was uneven, the sheets coa.r.s.e, and the lamp, by which Anthony worked, s.h.i.+ning in her face.

When she finally fell asleep, it was with a sob of revolt.

CHAPTER XIX

Mariana's restlessness did not pa.s.s with the pa.s.sing days. It developed until it gathered the force of a malady, and she lived in persistent movement, as if impelled by an invisible lash. As her aversion to their lodgings became more p.r.o.nounced, her powers of endurance increased, and through the long, hot days she was rarely in-doors. Algarcife often wondered where she spent the morning and afternoon hours, but the constraint between them had strengthened, and he did not ask her. When breakfast was over, he would see her put on her hat, take her shabby black parasol, and go out into the street. At luncheon she would return, looking flushed and warm, as if from exercise in the summer sun; but when they had risen from the table she would move uneasily about, until, at last, she would turn in desperation and go out again. He seldom sought to detain her. Indeed, her absence was almost a relief, and he found it less difficult to work when the silence was unbroken by impetuous footsteps and the rustle of skirts.

Once he said: ”It is too hot for you this afternoon.”