CHAPTER XIII. THE TEST
Some day the marriageable age for women will be advanced from twenty tothirty, and the old maid line will be changed from thirty to forty. Whenthat time comes there will be surprisingly few divorces. The husband ofwhom we dream at twenty is not at all the type of man who attracts us atthirty. The man I married at twenty was a brilliant, morbid, handsome,abnormal creature with magnificent eyes and very white teeth and noparticular appetite at mealtime. The man whom I could care for at thirtywould be the normal, safe and substantial sort who would come in at sixo'clock, kiss me once, sniff the air twice and say: "Mm! What's thatsmells so good, old girl? I'm as hungry as a bear. Trot it out. Whereare the kids?"
These are dangerous things to think upon. So dangerous and disturbing tothe peace of mind that I have decided not to see Ernst von Gerhard for aweek or two. I find that seeing him is apt to make me forget Peter Orme;to forget that my duty begins with a capital D; to forget that I amdangerously near the thirty year old mark; to forget Norah, and Max, andthe Spalpeens, and the world, and everything but the happiness of beingnear him, watching his eyes say one thing while his lips say another.
At such times I am apt to work myself up into rather a savage frame ofmind, and to shut myself in my room evenings, paying no heed to FrauNirlanger's timid knocking, or Bennie's good-night message. I uncover mytypewriter and set to work at the thing which may or may not be abook, and am extremely wretched and gloomy and pessimistic, after thisfashion:
"He probably wouldn't care anything about you if you were free. It isjust a case of the fruit that is out of reach being the most desirable.Men don't marry frumpy, snuffy old things of thirty, or thereabouts. Menaren't marrying now-a-days, anyway. Certainly not for love. They marryfor position, or power, or money, when they do marry. Think of allthe glorious creatures he meets every day--women whose hair, andfinger-nails and teeth and skin are a religion; women whose clothes area fine art; women who are free to care only for themselves; to rest,to enjoy, to hear delightful music, and read charming books, and eatdelicious food. He doesn't really care about you, with your rumpledblouses, and your shabby gloves and shoes, and your somewhat doubtfullinen collars. The last time you saw him you were just coming home fromthe office after a dickens of a day, and there was a smudge on the endof your nose, and he told you of it, laughing. But you didn't laugh. Yourubbed it off, furiously, and you wanted to cry. Cry! You, Dawn O'Hara!Begorra! 'Tis losin' your sense av humor you're after doin'! Get towork."
After which I would fall upon the book in a furious, futile fashion,writing many incoherent, irrelevant paragraphs which I knew would becast aside as worthless on the sane and reasoning to-morrow.
Oh, it had been easy enough to talk of love in a lofty, superiorimpersonal way that New Year's day. Just the luxury of speaking of it atall, after those weeks of repression, sufficed. But it is not so easy tobe impersonal and lofty when the touch of a coat sleeve against your armsends little prickling, tingling shivers racing madly through thousandsof too taut nerves. It is not so easy to force the mind and tongue intosafe, sane channels when they are forever threatening to rush togetherin an overwhelming torrent that will carry misery and destruction in itswake. Invariably we talk with feverish earnestness about the book; aboutmy work at the office; about Ernst's profession, with its wonderfulgrowth; about Norah, and Max and the Spalpeens, and the home; about thelatest news; about the weather; about Peter Orme--and then silence.
At our last meeting things took a new and startling turn. So startling,so full of temptation and happiness-that-must-not-be, that I resolved toforbid myself the pain and joy of being, near him until I could be quitesure that my grip on Dawn O'Hara was firm, unshakable and lasting.
Von Gerhard sports a motor-car, a rakish little craft, built long andlow, with racing lines, and a green complexion, and a nose that cutsthrough the air like the prow of a swift boat through water. Von Gerhardhad promised me a spin in it on the first mild day. Sunday turned out tobe unexpectedly lamblike, as only a March day can be, with real sunshinethat warmed the end of one's nose instead of laughing as it tweaked it,as the lying February sunshine had done.
"But warmly you must dress yourself," Von Gerhard warned me, "with nogauzy blouses or sleeveless gowns. The air cuts like a knife, but itfeels good against the face. And a little road-house I know, where oneis served great steaming plates of hot oyster stew. How will that be fora lark, yes?"
And so I had swathed myself in wrappings until I could scarcely clamberinto the panting little car, and we had darted off along the smooth lakedrives, while the wind whipped the scarlet into our cheeks, even whileit brought the tears to our eyes. There was no chance for conversation,even if Von Gerhard had been in talkative mood, which he was not. Heseemed more taciturn than usual, seated there at the wheel, lookingstraight ahead at the ribbon of road, his eyes narrowed down tomere keen blue slits. I realized, without alarm, that he was drivingfuriously and lawlessly, and I did not care. Von Gerhard was that sortof man. One could sit quite calmly beside him while he pulled at thereins of a pair of runaway horses, knowing that he would conquer them inthe end.
Just when my face began to feel as stiff and glazed as a mummy's, weswung off the roadway and up to the entrance of the road-house that wasto revive us with things hot and soupy.
"Another minute," I said, through stiff lips, as I extricated myselffrom my swathings, "and I should have been what Mr. Mantalini describedas a demnition body. For pity's sake, tell 'em the soup can't be too hotnor too steaming for your lady friend. I've had enough fresh air to lastme the remainder of my life. May I timidly venture to suggest that acheese sandwich follow the oyster stew? I am famished, and this placelooks as though it might make a speciality of cheese sandwiches."
"By all means a cheese sandwich. Und was noch? That fresh air it hasgiven you an appetite, nicht wahr?" But there was no sign of a smileon his face, nor was the kindly twinkle of amusement to be seen in hiseyes--that twinkle that I had learned to look for.
"Smile for the lady," I mockingly begged when we had been served."You've been owlish all the afternoon. Here, try a cheese sandwich. Now,why do you suppose that this mustard tastes so much better than the kindone gets at home?"
Von Gerhard had been smoking a cigarette, the first that I had ever seenin his fingers. Now he tossed it into the fireplace that yawned blackand empty at one side of the room. He swept aside the plates and glassesthat stood before him, leaned his arms on the table and deliberatelystared at me.
"I sail for Europe in June, to be gone a year--probably more," he said.
"Sail!" I echoed, idiotically; and began blindly to dab clots of mustardon that ridiculous sandwich.
"I go to study and work with Gluck. It is the opportunity of a lifetime.Gluck is to the world of medicine what Edison is to the world ofelectricity. He is a wizard, a man inspired. You should see him--alittle, bent, grizzled, shabby old man who looks at you, and sees younot. It is a wonderful opportunity, a--"
The mustard and the sandwich and the table and Von Gerhard's face werevery indistinct and uncertain to my eyes, but I managed to say: "Soglad--congratulate you--very happy--no doubt fortunate--"
Two strong hands grasped my wrists. "Drop that absurd mustard spoonand sandwich. Na, I did not mean to frighten you, Dawn. How your handstremble. So, look at me. You would like Vienna, Kindchen. You wouldlike the gayety, and the brightness of it, and the music, and the prettywomen, and the incomparable gowns. Your sense of humor would discern thehollowness beneath all the pomp and ceremony and rigid lines of caste,and military glory; and your writer's instinct would revel in thesplendor, and color and romance and intrigue."
I shrugged my shoulders in assumed indifference. "Can't you convey allthis to me without grasping my wrists like a villain in a melodrama?Besides, it isn't very generous or thoughtful of you to tell me allthis, knowing that it is not for me. Vienna for you, and Milwaukee andcheese sandwiches for me. Please pass the mustard."
But the hold on my wrists gr
ew firmer. Von Gerhard's eyes were steady asthey gazed into mine. "Dawn, Vienna, and the whole world is waiting foryou, if you will but take it. Vienna--and happiness--with me--"
I wrenched my wrists free with a dreadful effort and rose, sick,bewildered, stunned. My world--my refuge of truth, and honor, and safetyand sanity that had lain in Ernst von Gerhard's great, steady hands, wasslipping away from me. I think the horror that I felt within musthave leaped to my eyes, for in an instant Von Gerhard was beside me,steadying me with his clear blue eyes. He did not touch the tips of myfingers as he stood there very near me. From the look of pain on hisface I knew that I had misunderstood, somehow.
"Kleine, I see that you know me not," he said, in German, and the sayingit was as tender as is a mother when she reproves a child that sheloves. "This fight against the world, those years of unhappiness andmisery, they have made you suspicious and lacking in trust, is it notso? You do not yet know the perfect love that casts out all doubt. Dawn,I ask you in the name of all that is reasoning, and for the sake of yourhappiness and mine, to divorce this man Peter Orme--this man who foralmost ten years has not been your husband--who never can be yourhusband. I ask you to do something which will bring suffering to no one,and which will mean happiness to many. Let me make you happy--you wereborn to be happy--you who can laugh like a girl in spite of your woman'ssorrows--"
But I sank into a chair and hid my face in my hands so that I might bespared the beauty and the tenderness of his eyes. I tried to thinkof all the sane and commonplace things in life. Somewhere in my innerconsciousness a cool little voice was saying, over and over again:
"Now, Dawn, careful! You've come to the crossroads at last. Right orleft? Choose! Now, Dawn, careful!" and the rest of it all over again.
When I lifted my face from my hands at last it was to meet thetenderness of Von Gerhard's gaze with scarcely a tremor.
"You ought to know," I said, very slowly and evenly, "that a divorce,under these circumstances, is almost impossible, even if I wished to dowhat you suggest. There are certain state laws--"
An exclamation of impatience broke from him. "Laws! In some states, yes.In others, no. It is a mere technicality--a trifle! There is about it abit of that which you call red tape. It amounts to nothing--to that!" Hesnapped his fingers. "A few months' residence in another state, perhaps.These American laws, they are made to break."
"Yes; you are quite right," I said, and I knew in my heart that thecool, insistent little voice within had not spoken in vain. "Butthere are other laws--laws of honor and decency, and right living andconscience--that cannot be broken with such ease. I cannot marry you. Ihave a husband."
"You can call that unfortunate wretch your husband! He does not knowthat he has a wife. He will not know that he has lost a wife. Come,Dawn--small one--be not so foolish. You do not know how happy I willmake you. You have never seen me except when I was tortured with doubtsand fears. You do not know what our life will be together. There shallbe everything to make you forget--everything that thought and love andmoney can give you. The man there in the barred room--"
At that I took his dear hands in mine and held them close as I miserablytried to make him hear what that small, still voice had told me.
"There! That is it! If he were free, if he were able to stand beforemen that his actions might be judged fairly and justly, I should nothesitate for one single, precious moment. If he could fight for hisrights, or relinquish them, as he saw fit, then this thing would notbe so monstrous. But, Ernst, can't you see? He is there, alone, in thatdreadful place, quite helpless, quite incapable, quite at our mercy. Ishould as soon think of hurting a little child, or snatching the penniesfrom a blind man's cup. The thing is inhuman! It is monstrous! No statelaws, no red tape can dissolve such a union."
"You still care for him!"
"Ernst!"
His face was very white with the pallor of repressed emotion, and hiseyes were like the blue flame that one sees flashing above a bed ofwhite-hot coals.
"You do care for him still. But yes! You can stand there, quitecool--but quite--and tell me that you would not hurt him, not for yourhappiness, not for mine. But me you can hurt again and again, withoutone twinge of regret."
There was silence for a moment in the little bare dining-room--amiserable silence on my part, a bitter one for Ernst. Then Von Gerhardseated himself again at the table opposite and smiled one of the raresmiles that illumined his face with such sweetness.
"Come, Dawn, almost we are quarreling--we who were to have been somatter-of-fact and sensible. Let us make an end of this question. Youwill think of what I have said, will you not? Perhaps I was too abrupt,too brutal. Ach, Dawn, you know not how I--Very well, I will not."
With both hands I was clinging to my courage and praying for strength toendure this until I should be alone in my room again.
"As for that poor creature who is bereft of reason, he shall lack nocare, no attention. The burden you have borne so long I shall take nowupon my shoulders."
He seemed so confident, so sure. I could bear it no longer. "Ernst,if you have any pity, any love for me, stop! I tell you I can never dothis. Why do you make it so terribly hard for me! So pitilessly hard!You always have been so strong, so sure, such a staff of courage."
"I say again, and again, and again, you do not care."
It was then that I took my last vestige of strength and courage togetherand going over to him, put my two hands on his great shoulders, lookingup into his drawn face as I spoke.
"Ernst, look at me! You never can know how much I care. I care somuch that I could not bear to have the shadow of wrong fall upon ourhappiness. There can be no lasting happiness upon a foundation ofshameful deceit. I should hate myself, and you would grow to hate me. Italways is so. Dear one, I care so much that I have the strength to doas I would do if I had to face my mother, and Norah tonight. I don't askyou to understand. Men are not made to understand these things; not evena man such as you, who are so beautifully understanding. I only ask thatyou believe in me--and think of me sometimes--I shall feel it, and behelped. Will you take me home now, Dr. von Gerhard?"
The ride home was made in silence. The wind was colder, sharper. I waschilled, miserable, sick. Von Gerhard's face was quite expressionlessas he guided the little car over the smooth road. When we had stoppedbefore my door, still without a word, I thought that he was going toleave me with that barrier of silence unbroken. But as I stepped stifflyto the curbing his hands closed about mine with the old steady grip. Ilooked up quickly, to find a smile in the corners of the tired eyes.
"You--you will let me see you--sometimes?"
But wisdom came to my aid. "Not now. It is better that we go ourseparate ways for a few weeks, until our work has served to adjust thebalance that has been disturbed. At the end of that time I shall writeyou, and from that time until you sail in June we shall be just goodcomrades again. And once in Vienna--who knows?--you may meet the plumpblond Fraulein, of excellent family--"
"And no particular imagination--"
And then we both laughed, a bit hysterically, because laughter is, afterall, akin to tears. And the little green car shot off with a whir as Iturned to enter my new world of loneliness.