CHAPTER VI
IN THE SWIM
Mrs. Harlan called herself a widow, and if the definition of a widowis "a woman who has lost her husband," she held good claim to thattitle. Just how this loss occurred was, however, a matter that wasshrouded in mystery. No one of her large and rather gay circle ofintimate friends either knew or greatly troubled themselves about thematter. She had been known to speak of "Mr. Harlan" and of "myhusband," but it was quite impossible to gather from her mannerwhether she mourned his loss or gloried in her freedom.
There are in New York many circles of what is politely called society,and entrance to these circles is more or less easy of access,depending upon just which one of these charmed rings one wishes toenter. Mrs. Harlan's "set" was one of those to which entrance dependedsolely upon possession of a decent wardrobe and the desire to havewhat is rather vaguely called "a good time!" "A good time" is verylike "a good dinner," in that one's appreciation of it depends largelyupon personal taste; "what is one man's meat may be another's poison,"and what to some is "a good time," to others would hardly be dignifiedby that title.
Mrs. Harlan and her friends, however, were perfectly satisfied withexistence, and rushed from theatre to restaurant, and from road houseto friendly little games of chance in one another's apartments with anenergy that never seemed to tire.
Without this class Heaven alone knows what would become of thetheatre, the gay restaurants, the taxicab owners, and even theautomobile manufacturers. They, at least, make work for others,however little real work they do themselves, although even among thesepersons were a few men who fought hard all day for the money that kepttheir endless chain of gayety running through the better part of thenight.
The man who has learned the difference between gayety and happinesshas solved one of the greatest secrets of life; such men are rare; atleast they were not numbered among Mrs. Harlan's friends.
The lady herself was a handsome woman of rather generous proportions,her age, like her husband's exact fate, being one of the very fewsubjects on which she preserved a discreet silence. She was by nomeans a bad woman, according to her lights, but her lights burned dimat times, and she had that smoldering hatred of the orthodox membersof respectability that is never absent from the heart of a cleverwoman who knows that she has forever put herself beyond its pale.
Dick Fenway, very soon after his arrival in New York, became one ofthe inner circle of Mrs. Harlan's intimates, both by virtue of hisnatural gayety and the fact that he was what is known as a goodspender, meaning a person who, no matter how great his expenditure maybe, is never by any possible chance known to do the slightest goodwith his money.
At first gossip was inclined to connect his name with that of the fairwidow, but if, for a time, there had been anything but friendshipbetween them, it soon burned itself out. Whatever her age, she was atleast old enough to have been his mother, and, reckless as he was, hehad far too much natural shrewdness to allow himself to become socompletely entangled that escape would be impossible.
He made no secret of the fact that he had been unhappily married; infact he took pains that the ladies of this particular circle shouldknow of it, an unhappy marriage being not only a sure passport totheir sympathy, but acting as a sort of insurance against any tooambitious hopes that his friendly attentions might arouse.
From the day, now some months ago, when he met Lola Barnhelm, untilsome time after her accident, he had dropped out of the sight of hisfriends, and upon his return he offered no explanation for hisabsence, other than that he had been having a stupid time and wasanxious to make up for it.
Lola had been the first well-bred girl he had ever known, and all thatwas good in his nature had been stirred by the first meeting with her.Her reproaches for his deceit about his wife had really hurt him, andthe shock he had experienced when he believed himself to have been thecause of her death had been the one terrible experience of his shallowlife. He had been taken to the police station, and while waiting forhis lawyer to arrange for his release on bail had been informed thatthe girl was not seriously hurt and that there was no charge againsthim.
His relief from his feeling of horror and remorse was naturally great,but he made up his mind that it was quite hopeless to expect Lola'sforgiveness, and when he met her one day on Broadway, shortly afterher recovery, he was about to pass her without any other greeting thana bow, when to his great surprise she stopped him and, without anyreference either to the accident or to his deceit about his marriage,chatted with him so gayly and so pleasantly that he took heart andinvited her to drop into a restaurant with him for a cup of tea.
From her manner, as she entered the great room filled with laughing,chattering, well-dressed men and women, he could hardly be blamed fornot knowing that this was the first time in all her life that she hadever been in such a place.
Neither her father nor John Dorris were rich men; they knew nothing ofthe life that is reflected in such place; to John a few visits withher, to the theatre, long walks in the Park, or quiet evenings in theapartment won the natural development of their intimacy, and Dr.Barnhelm knew as little as he cared, which was not at all, about thesham glitter and forced gayety of the great eating places that havedone so much to destroy the home life of the average New Yorker.
In these surroundings, in an atmosphere of false luxury, of noise,heat, and confusion, against a background of painted women and flushedand loud-voiced men, the real reverence he had always had for herbegan rapidly to disappear, and he found himself looking upon hersimply as a charming and beautiful young girl, who, as a matter ofcourse, was to be pursued as diligently and as relentlessly ascircumstances would allow. After all, the respect the world has for usis usually the measure of our own respect for ourselves, and as Lolamade no effort to rebuke his rather daring advances, they naturallyincreased in freedom until in all the great room there was no gayertable than theirs.
Many heads were turned toward them, many questions were asked aboutwho this new beauty could be. Fenway seemed to be known to almosteveryone, and several times men came up to the table and spoke to him,but if they had hoped to be introduced to his companion they weredisappointed, and they went away muttering angrily.
Lola would drink nothing but tea; in fact she needed nothing stronger;the intoxication of the scenes is as complete sometimes as theintoxication of strong drink, and to this girl, seeing for the firsttime a glimpse of the thing that to her seemed life, came the birth ofa desire that never again left her, the desire to know everything, toexperience everything, to live as those persons about her seemed to beliving, without thought of anything but the pleasure of the moment,and had she known the price that all who live that life must surelypay, she would still have gone on.
This was the first of several meetings, sometimes alone, sometimes inthe company of Mrs. Harlan, to whom he later introduced her. She hadfrankly told him that first day that her father would never consent toallow him to come to their home, and he had been well content to meether in places where less restraint was necessary.
To his great surprise, however, he found Lola much better able toprotect herself than he had expected. She was what Mrs. Harlandescribed, after the first time she met her, as "a mighty smoothproposition," and although he knew himself by this time to be madly inlove with her, he could not flatter himself with the hope that she wasin the very least inclined to allow him to make a fool of her. Mrs.Harlan in fact did not hesitate to inform him that he was the one whowas playing the fool. She rather coarsely described the affair as "aten to one shot against him."
"Why don't you hurry up that divorce and marry the girl?" she demandedof him on the afternoon on which Lola had made the appointment to meethim. "You are crazy about her, and it's the only way she'll everlisten to you. If you don't look out she'll marry that young bankclerk and leave you flat."
"I doubt it," replied Dick, sulkily. "John Dorris is one of those niceboys, like you read about, and the way Lola is coming on lately hewouldn't have speed enough to keep up
with her. She may marry him, Idon't say she won't, but if she does God help him."
"That's all right, too," replied his friend, "but she's too smart tomake a fool of herself over a married man like you. She'll let you runher around in your car and buy her a few nice little presents, butjust as you think she's going to fall into your arms, she's going tostep back and give you the laugh. I may be a fool, but that's the wayit looks to me."
It was about the way it looked to him also, but he did not think itnecessary to inform her of the fact, so to change the subject, and tokill time until the three o'clock appointment, he proposed lunching atRector's, and she agreeing, they drove there in his car, and he,contrary to his usual custom, drank far more than was good for him.
Lola herself found time hanging heavily on her hands, and wanderedaimlessly about the apartment waiting for her father and Dr. Crossettto return. Maria came to her at last, holding in her hand severalletters, all but one of which she placed upon the table.
"Is that one for father?" said Lola, seeing her about to leave theroom with one letter in her hand.
"No, Miss. It's for me." She hesitated for a moment, then went onshyly. "It's from Mr. Barnes!"
"Oh," remarked Lola curiously, "I thought he had stopped writing toyou."
"No, Miss."
"Can you read them yourself now?"
"I try to," replied Maria; "I manage to spell 'em out somehow."
"Why don't you ask me to read them for you?"
Maria did not reply for a moment, and turned once, as if to leave theroom, but at last she seemed to make up her mind, and crossing to thecouch on which Lola had languidly thrown herself, she said quietly, "Icouldn't ask you while you were sick, and once, after we moved overhere, I--I did, and you said you didn't want to be bothered. Afterthat, some way I--I couldn't seem to bring myself to ask again. Yousee, I'm growing awful fond of Mr. Barnes, and--and I guess I'm sortof sensitive about him."
The poor girl said nothing of the hours she had studied, hopelesslyconfused, to spell out the crude little letters from the lover whomeant so much to her, nor of the real delicacy that prevented her fromasking anyone but the mistress she loved so deeply to read what he hadwritten. To her Lola could do no wrong, and no man could hold anyplace in her heart that she would for a moment try to conceal fromthis girl who had brought the first glimpse of sunshine into her life.
"Give me your letter," said Lola indolently. "I can't remember beingcross about it. Really I don't mind at all. I am rather interested."
She took the letter that Maria eagerly passed to her, and opening itread slowly, for Mr. Barnes was a better sailor than scholar.
"'August 18. Newport, R. I. Respected friend----'" She looked up,laughing. "I see that he is still properly respectful."
"Yes, Miss," replied Maria, simply. "He loves me!"
Lola looked at her for a moment, then smiled rather bitterly, andcontinued:
"'I take my pen in hand to let you know that I got a bad fall in thegun turret and broke my left leg----'"
Maria's little cry of fear and sorrow was drowned in Lola's joyous,hearty laughter. Maria looked at her, anger and reproach strugglingwith her love and respect, and Lola seeing her face, smothered hermirth.
"Really I am sorry," and she started to continue, "'broke my left leg,and I haven't been able to write with it before.' That's what I waslaughing at, Maria; it does sound funny, doesn't it?"
"Give me that letter." For the first time in her life Maria spoke toher rudely, no longer the servant, but the offended woman. "Give it tome."
"Really, I beg your pardon, Maria, but it is too absurd. Wait! I willread you the rest of it."
Maria stepped forward and took the letter out of her hand.
"If you please, Miss," she said quietly, "I would rather spell it outmyself. You see he didn't write that thinking that anybody was goingto laugh at it. He wrote it for an ignorant girl that loves him. Ican't read good, but I can understand, and I guess that's all hewants."