CHAPTER XXII
BUT YET A WOMAN
Woman turns every man the wrong side out, And never gives to truth and virtue that Which simpleness and merit purchaseth. --_Shakespeare_.
My chief played his game of chess coldly, methodically, and with skill;yet a game of chess is not always of interest to the spectator who doesnot know every move. Least of all does it interest one who feels himselfbut a pawn piece on the board and part of a plan in whose direction hehas nothing to say. In truth, I was weary. Not even the contemplation ofthe hazardous journey to Oregon served to stir me. I traveled wearilyagain and again my circle of personal despair.
On the day following my last interview with Mr. Calhoun, I had agreed totake my old friend Doctor von Rittenhofen upon a short journey among thepoints of interest of our city, in order to acquaint him somewhat withour governmental machinery and to put him in touch with some of thesources of information to which he would need to refer in the work uponwhich he was now engaged. We had spent a couple of hours together, andwere passing across to the capitol, with the intent of looking in uponthe deliberations of the houses of Congress, when all at once, as wecrossed the corridor, I felt him touch my arm.
"Did you see that young lady?" he asked of me. "She looked at you,yess?"
I was in the act of turning, even as he spoke. Certainly had I beenalone I would have seen Elisabeth, would have known that she was there.
It was Elisabeth, alone, and hurrying away! Already she was approachingthe first stair. In a moment she would be gone. I sprang after her byinstinct, without plan, clear in my mind only that she was going, andwith her all the light of the world; that she was going, and that shewas beautiful, adorable; that she was going, and that she was Elisabeth!
As I took a few rapid steps toward her, I had full opportunity to seethat no grief had preyed upon her comeliness, nor had concealment fedupon her damask cheek. Almost with some resentment I saw that she hadnever seemed more beautiful than on this morning. The costume of thosedays was trying to any but a beautiful woman; yet Elisabeth had a way ofavoiding extremes which did not appeal to her individual taste. Herfrock now was all in pink, as became the gentle spring, and the bunch ofsilvery ribbons which fluttered at her belt had quite the agreeingshade to finish in perfection the cool, sweet picture that she made. Hersleeves were puffed widely, and for the lower arm were opened justsufficiently. She carried a small white parasol, with pinked edges, andher silken mitts, light and dainty, matched the clear whiteness of herarms. Her face, turned away from me, was shaded by a wide round bonnet,not quite so painfully plain as the scooplike affair of the time, butwith a drooping brim from which depended a slight frilling of sheerlace. Her smooth brown hair was drawn primly down across her ears, aswas the fashion of the day, and from the masses piled under the bonnetbrim there fell down a curl, round as though made that moment, and notyet limp from the damp heat of Washington. Fresh and dainty and restfulas a picture done on Dresden, yet strong, fresh, fully competent,Elisabeth walked as having full right in the world and accepting as herdue such admiration as might be offered. If she had ever known a care,she did not show it; and, I say, this made me feel resentment. It washer proper business to appear miserable.
If she indeed resembled a rare piece of flawless Dresden on thismorning, she was as cold, her features were as unmarked by any humanpity. Ah! so different an Elisabeth, this, from the one I had last seenat the East Room, with throat fluttering and cheeks far warmer thanthis cool rose pink. But, changed or not, the full sight of her came asthe sudden influence of some powerful drug, blotting out consciousnessof other things. I could no more have refrained from approaching herthan I could have cast away my own natural self and form. Just as shereached the top of the broad marble stairs, I spoke.
"Elisabeth!"
Seeing that there was no escape, she paused now and turned toward me. Ihave never seen a glance like hers. Say not there is no language of theeyes, no speech in the composure of the features. Yet such is the Sphinxpower given to woman, that now I saw, as though it were a thingtangible, a veil drawn across her eyes, across her face, between hersoul and mine.
Elisabeth drew herself up straight, her chin high, her eyes level, herlips just parted for a faint salutation in the conventions of themorning.
"How do you do?" she remarked. Her voice was all cool white enamel. Thenthat veil dropped down between us.
She was there somewhere, but I could not see her clearly now. It was nother voice. I took her hand, yes; but it had now none of answering clasp.The flush was on her cheek no more. Cool, pale, sweet, all white now,armed cap-a-pie with indifference, she looked at me as formally asthough I were a remote acquaintance. Then she would have passed.
"Elisabeth," I began; "I am just back. I have not had time--I have hadno leave from you to come to see you--to ask you--to explain--"
"Explain?" she said evenly.
"But surely you can not believe that I--"
"I only believe what seems credible, Mr. Trist."
"But you promised--that very morning you agreed--Were you out of yourmind, that--"
"I was out of my mind that morning--but not that evening."
Now she was _grande demoiselle_, patrician, superior. Suddenly I becameconscious of the dullness of my own garb. I cast a quick glance over myfigure, to see whether it had not shrunken.
"But that is not it, Elisabeth--a girl may not allow a man so much asyou promised me, and then forget that promise in a day. It _was_ apromise between us. _You_ agreed that I should come; I did come. You hadgiven your word. I say, was that the way to treat me, coming as I did?"
"I found it possible," said she. "But, if you please, I must go. I begyour pardon, but my Aunt Betty is waiting with the carriage."
"Why, damn Aunt Betty!" I exclaimed. "You shall not go! See, look here!"
I pulled from my pocket the little ring which I had had with me thatnight when I drove out to Elmhurst in my carriage, the one with thesingle gem which I had obtained hurriedly that afternoon, having neverbefore that day had the right to do so. In another pocket I found theplain gold one which should have gone with the gem ring that sameevening. My hand trembled as I held these out to her.
"I prove to you what I meant. Here! I had no time! Why, Elisabeth, I washurrying--I was mad!--I had a right to offer you these things. I havestill the right to ask you why you did not take them? Will you not takethem now?"
She put my hand away from her gently. "Keep them," she said, "for theowner of that other wedding gift--the one which I received."
Now I broke out. "Good God! How can I be held to blame for the act of adrunken friend? You know Jack Dandridge as well as I do myself. Icautioned him--I was not responsible for his condition."
"It was not that decided me."
"You could not believe it was _I_ who sent you that accursed shoe whichbelonged to another woman."
"He said it came from you. Where did _you_ get it, then?"
Now, as readily may be seen, I was obliged again to hesitate. There weregood reasons to keep my lips sealed. I flushed. The red of confusionwhich came to my cheek was matched by that of indignation in her own. Icould not tell her, and she could not understand, that my work for Mr.Calhoun with that other woman was work for America, and so as sacred andas secret as my own love for her. Innocent, I still seemed guilty.
"So, then, you do not say? I do not ask you."
"I do not deny it."
"You do not care to tell me where you got it."
"No," said I; "I will not tell you where I got it."
"Why?"
"Because that would involve another woman."
"_Involve another woman?_ Do you think, then, that on this one day ofher life, a girl likes to think of her--her lover--as involved with anyother woman? Ah, you made me begin to think. I could not help the chillthat came on my heart. Marry you?--I could not! I never could, now."
"Yet you had decided--you had told me--it was agreed--"
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"I had decided on facts as I thought they were. Other facts came beforeyou arrived. Sir, you do me a very great compliment."
"But you loved me once," I said banally.
"I do not consider it fair to mention that now."
"I never loved that other woman. I had never seen her more than once.You do not know her."
"Ah, is that it? Perhaps I could tell you something of one Helena vonRitz. Is it not so?"
"Yes, that was the property of Helena von Ritz," I told her, looking herfairly in the eye.
"Kind of you, indeed, to involve me, as you say, with a lady of herprecedents!"
Now her color was up full, and her words came crisply. Had I hadadequate knowledge of women, I could have urged her on then, and broughton a full-fledged quarrel. Strategically, that must have been a farhappier condition than mere indifference on her part. But I did notknow; and my accursed love of fairness blinded me.
"I hardly think any one is quite just to that lady," said I slowly.
"Except Mr. Nicholas Trist! A beautiful and accomplished lady, I doubtnot, in his mind."
"Yes, all of that, I doubt not."
"And quite kind with her little gifts."
"Elisabeth, I can not well explain all that to you. I can not, on myhonor."
"Do not!" she cried, putting out her hand as though in alarm. "Do notinvoke your honor!" She looked at me again. I have never seen a looklike hers. She had been calm, cold, and again indignant, all in amoment's time. That expression which now showed on her face was one yetworse for me.
Still I would not accept my dismissal, but went on stubbornly: "But mayI not see your father and have my chance again? I _can not_ let it gothis way. It is the ruin of my life."
But now she was advancing, dropping down a step at a time, and her facewas turned straight ahead. The pink of her gown was matched by the pinkof her cheeks. I saw the little working of the white throat wherein somesobs seemed stifling. And so she went away and left me.