Part 26 (1/2)

”You'll not get away from me,” he told her.

”You--!” The one word was contemptuous. ”You don't really count.”

”What d'you mean?”

He still smiled.

”I mean what I say.” Her voice was tired. ”You're nothing--; nothing but--oh, a kind of a henchman to him. That's all you are. Not that he needs you. He doesn't need any one. He's too unscrupulously powerful for that. He's never needed any one. Not you. Nor--me. He didn't even need my mother. He broke her heart and let her die because he didn't need her. I think you know he's like that. You're no different where he's concerned than the others.”

”After all--I'm your husband!”

”That's the ghastly part of it. You--my--husband. You're only my husband because of him. You knew that when I married you, didn't you? You knew the lies he told me when he wanted me to marry you. You never contradicted them. And I was too silly, too young to know. I wanted to get away from it all; and from him. I couldn't guess that you--d'you think, Ernest, if it hadn't been for those lies I'd have married you? Do you?”

”Oh, I don't know. I usually get what I want, Jenny.”

”And why do you get it? Why?”

”Perhaps because I want it.”

She laughed harshly.

”Because Daniel Drare gets it for you. Because he's had everything all his life. Because he's behind you for the time being. That's why!”

”And what if it is?”

”My G.o.d!” She muttered. ”I can't make you understand. I can't even talk to either of you.”

”You went to see him!”

”I went to him to tell him I couldn't stand it any longer. I begged him to help me; just--this--once--I told him I couldn't go on this way. I told him I couldn't bear any more. I told him the truth; that I'd--I'd go mad.”

”What did he say? Eh, Jenny?”

For a second her eyes closed.

”He laughed. Laughed--”

”Of course!”

”There's no 'of course' about it. I'm serious. Deadly serious.”

”Don't be a fool, Jenny. If you ask me I'd say you were mighty well off.

Your father gives you everything you want. Your husband gives you everything you want. There isn't a man in the whole city who has more power than Daniel Drare. Or more money for that matter. You ought to be jolly well satisfied.”

She waited a full moment before speaking.

”Maybe I'm a fool, Ernest. Maybe I am. A weak, helpless kind of a fool.

But I'm not happy, Ernest. I can't go this kind of a life any more. It's gotten unreal and horrible. And the kind of things you do to make money; the kind of things you're proud of. They prey on me, Ernest. There's nothing about all this that's clean. It's making me ill; the rottenness of this sort of living. I'm not happy. Doesn't that mean anything to you?”

”Nonsense. You've no reason for not being happy. The trouble with you, Jenny, is that you've too lively an imagination.”