CHAPTER VI
MR. CRAIG IN SWEET DANGER
It is a rash enterprise to open wide to the world the private doors ofthe family, to expose intimate interiors all unconscious of outsideobservation, and all unprepared for it. Such frankness tends to destroy"sympathetic interest," to make delusion and illusion impossible; itgives cynicism and his brother, pharisaism, their opportunity to simperand to sneer. Still rasher is it to fling wide the doors of a humanheart, and, without any clever arrangement of lights and shades, revealin the full face of the sun exactly what goes on there. We lie to othersunconsciously; we lie to ourselves both consciously and unconsciously.We admit and entertain dark thoughts, and at the first alarm of exposuredeny that we ever saw them before; we cover up our motives, forget wherewe have hidden them, and wax justly indignant when they are dug out andconfronted with us. We are scandalized, quite honestly, when others arecaught doing what we ourselves have done. We are horrified and cry"Monster!" when others do what we ourselves refrain from doing onlythrough lack of the bad courage.
No man is a hero who is not a hero to his valet; and no woman a ladyunless her maid thinks so. Margaret Severence's new maid Selina wasengaged to be married; the lover had gone on a spree, had started a freefight in the streets, and had got himself into jail for a fortnight. Itwas the first week of his imprisonment, and Selina had committed aseries of faults intolerable in a maid. She sent Margaret to a ball witha long tear in her skirt; she let her go out, open in the back, both inblouse and in placket; she upset a cup of hot CAFE AU LAIT on her arm;finally she tore a strap off a shoe as she was fastening it onMargaret's foot. Though no one has been able to fathom it, there must bea reason for the perversity whereby our outbursts of anger against anyseriously-offending fellow-being always break on some trivial offense,never on one of the real and deep causes of wrath. Margaret, thoughignorant of her maid's secret grief and shame, had borne patiently thesins of omission and commission, only a few of which are cataloguedabove; this, though the maid, absorbed in her woe, had not evenapologized for a single one of them. On the seventh day of discomfortsand disasters Margaret lost her temper at the triviality of the rippingoff of the shoe-strap, and poured out upon Selina not only all herresentment against her but also all that she had been storing up sincethe beginning of the season against life and destiny. Selina sat on thefloor stupefied; Margaret, a very incarnation of fury, raged up and downthe room, venting every and any insult a naturally caustic witsuggested. "And," she wound up, "I want you to clear out at once. I'llsend you your month's wages. I can't give you a character--except forhonesty. I'll admit, you are too stupid to steal. Clear out, and neverlet me see you again."
She swept from the room, drove away to lunch at Mrs. Baker's. She actedmuch as usual, seemed to be enjoying herself, for the luncheon was verygood indeed, Mrs. Baker's chef being new from France and not yet growncareless, and the company was amusing. At the third course she rose."I've forgotten something," said she. "I must go at once. No, no onemust be disturbed on my account. I'll drive straight home." And she wasgone before Mrs. Baker could rise from her chair.
At home Margaret went up to her own room, through her bedroom toSelina's--almost as large and quite as comfortable as her own and hardlyplainer. She knocked. As there was no answer, she opened the door. Onthe bed, sobbing heart-brokenly, lay Selina, crushed by the hideousinjustice of being condemned capitally merely for tearing off a bit ofleather which the shoemaker had neglected to make secure.
"Selina," said Margaret.
The maid turned her big, homely, swollen face on the pillow, ceasedsobbing, gasped in astonishment.
"I've come to beg your pardon," said Margaret, not as superior toinferior, nor yet with the much-vaunted "just as if they were equals,"but simply as one human being to another. The maid sat up. One of herbraids had come undone and was hanging ludicrously down across hercheek.
"I insulted you, and I'm horribly ashamed." Wistfully: "Will you forgiveme?"
"Oh, law!" cried the maid despairingly, "I'm dreaming." And she threwherself down once more and sobbed afresh.
Margaret knelt beside the bed, put her hand appealingly on the girl'sshoulder. "Can you forgive me, Selina?" said she. "There's no excuse forme except that I've had so much hard luck, and everything seems to begoing to pieces under me."
Selina stopped sobbing. "I told a story when I came to you and said I'dhad three years' experience," moaned she, not to be outdone in honorablegenerosity. "It was only three months as lady's maid, and not much of alady, neither."
"I don't in the least care," Margaret assured her. "I'm not strictlytruthful myself at times, and I do all sorts of horrid things."
"But that's natural in a lady," objected Selina, "where there ain't noexcuse for me that have only my character."
Margaret was careful not to let Selina see her smile in appreciation ofthis unconsciously profound observation upon life and morals. "Nevermind," said she; "you're going to be a good maid soon. You're learningquickly."
"No, no," wailed Selina. "I'm a regular block-head, and my hands is toocoarse."
"But you have a good heart and I like you," said Margaret. "And I wantyou to forgive me and like me. I'm so lonely and unhappy. And I need thelove of one so close to me all the time as you are. It'd be a realhelp."
Selina began to cry again, and then Margaret gave way to tears; and,presently, out came the dreadful story of the lover's fight and jailing;and Margaret, of course, promised to see that he was released at once.When she went to her own room, the maid following to help her efface thevery disfiguring evidence of their humble, emotional drama, Margaret hadrecovered her self-esteem and had won a friend, who, if too stupid to bevery useful, was also too stupid to be unfaithful.
As it was on the same day, and scarcely one brief hour later, it musthave been the very same Margaret who paced the alley of trimmed elms,her eyes so stern and somber, her mouth and chin so hard that herworshipful sister Lucia watched in silent, fascinated dread. At lengthMargaret noted Lucia, halted and: "Why don't you read your book?" shecried fiercely. "Why do you sit staring at me?"
"What a temper you have got--what a NASTY temper!" Lucia was goaded intoretorting.
"Haven't I, though!" exclaimed Margaret, as if she gloried in it. "Stopthat staring!"
"I could see you were thinking something--something--TERRIBLE!"explained Lucia.
Margaret's face cleared before a satirical smile. "What a romancer youare, Lucia." Then, with a laugh: "I'm taking myself ridiculouslyseriously to-day. Temper--giving way to temper--is a sure sign ofdefective intelligence or of defective digestion."
"Is it about--about Mr. Craig?"
Margaret reddened, dropped to the bench near her sister--evidence thatshe was willing to talk, to confide--so far as she ever confided herinmost self--to the one person she could trust.
"Has he asked you to marry him?"
"No; not yet."
"But he's going to?"
Margaret gave a queer smile. "He doesn't think so."
"He wouldn't dare!" exclaimed Lucia. "Why, he's not in the same classwith you."
"So! The little romancer is not so romantic that she forgets hersnobbishness."
"I mean, he's so rude and noisy. I DETEST him!"
"So do I--at times."
Lucia looked greatly relieved. "I thought you were encouraging him. Itseemed sort of--of--cheap, unworthy of you, to care to flirt with a manlike that."
Margaret's expression became strange indeed. "I am not flirting withhim," she said gravely. "I'm going to marry him."
Lucia was too amazed to speak, was so profoundly shocked that herusually rosy cheeks grew almost pale.
"Yes, I shall marry him," repeated Margaret slowly.
"But you don't love him!" cried Lucia.
"I dislike him," replied Margaret. After a pause she added: "When awoman makes up her mind to marry a man, willy-nilly, she begins to hatehim. It's a case of hunter and hunted. Perhaps, after she's got him, shemay change. But n
ot till the trap springs--not till the game's bagged."
Lucia shuddered. "Oh, Rita!" she cried. And she turned away to bury herface in her arms.
"I suppose I oughtn't to tell you these things," pursued Margaret; "Iought to leave you your illusions as long as possible. But--whyshouldn't you know the truth? Perhaps, if we all faced the truth aboutthings, instead of sheltering ourselves in lies, the world would beginto improve."
"But I don't see why you chose him," persisted Lucia.
"I didn't. Fate did the choosing."
"But why not somebody like--like Grant Arkwright? Rita, I'm sure he'sfond of you."
"So am I," said Rita. "But he's got the idea he would be doing me afavor in marrying me; and when a man gets that notion it's fatal.Also--He doesn't realize it himself, but I'm not prim enough to suithim. He imagines he's liberal--that's a common failing among men. But awoman who is natural shocks them, and they are taken in and pleased byone who poses as more innocent and impossible than any human being notperfectly imbecile could remain in a world that conceals nothing.... Idespise Grant--I like him, but despise him."
"He IS small," admitted Lucia.
"Small? He's infinitesimal. He'd be mean with his wife about money. He'drun the house himself. He should have been a butler."
"But, at least, he's a gentleman."
"Oh, yes," said Margaret. "Yes, I suppose so. I despise him, while, in away, I respect Craig."
"He has such a tough-looking skin," said Lucia.
"I don't mind that in a man," replied Margaret.
"His hands are like--like a coachman's," said Lucia. "Whenever I look atthem I think of Thomas."
"No, they're more like the parrot's--they're claws.... That's why I'mmarrying him."
"Because he has ugly hands?"
"Because they're ugly in just that way. They're the hands of the man whogets things and holds on to things. I'm taking him because he can getfor me what I need." Margaret patted her sister on the shoulder. "Cheerup, Lucia! I'm lucky, I tell you. I'm getting, merely at the price of alittle lying and a little shuddering, what most people can't get at anyprice."
"But he hasn't any money," objected Lucia.
"If he had, no doubt you'd find him quite tolerable. Even you--a younginnocent."
"It does make a difference," admitted Lucia. "You see, people have tohave money or they can't live like gentlemen and ladies."
"That's it," laughed Margaret. "What's a little thing like self-respectbeside ease and comfort and luxury? As grandmother said, a lady who'dput anything before luxury has lost her self-respect."
"Everybody that's nice ought to have money," declared Lucia. "Then theworld would be beautiful, full of love and romance, with everybody cleanand well-dressed and never in a hurry."
But Margaret seemed not to hear. She was gazing at the fountain, herunseeing eyes gloomily reflecting her thoughts.
"If Mr. Craig hasn't got money why marry him?" asked her sister.
"He can get it," replied Margaret tersely. "He's the man to trample andcrowd and clutch, and make everybody so uncomfortable that they'llgladly give him what he's snatching for." She laughed mockingly. "Yes, Ishall get what I want"--then soberly--"if I can get him."
"Get HIM! Why, he'll be delighted! And he ought to be."
"No, he oughtn't to be; but he will be."
"A man like him--marrying a lady! And marrying YOU!" Lucia threw herarms round her sister's neck and dissolved in tears. "Oh, Rita, Rita!"she sobbed. "You are the dearest, loveliest girl on earth. I'm sureyou're not doing it for yourself, at all. I'm sure you're doing it formy sake."
"You're quite wrong," said Rita, who was sitting unmoved and was lookinglike her grandmother. "I'm doing it for myself. I'm fond, of luxury--offine dresses and servants and all that.... Think of the thousands,millions of women who marry just for a home and a bare living!... Nodoubt, there's something wrong about the whole thing, but I don't seejust what. If woman is made to lead a sheltered life, to be supported bya man, to be a man's plaything, why, she can't often get the man she'dmost like to be the plaything of, can she?"
"Isn't there any such thing as love?" Lucia ventured wistfully."Marrying for love, I mean."
"Not among OUR sort of people, except by accident," Margaret assuredher. "The money's the main thing. We don't say so. We try not to thinkso. We denounce as low and coarse anybody that does say so. But it's thetruth, just the same.... Those who marry for money regret it, but not somuch as those who marry only for love--when poverty begins to pinch andto drag everything fine and beautiful down into the mud. Besides, Idon't love anybody--thank God! If I did, Lucia, I'm afraid I'd not havethe courage!"
"I'm sure you couldn't!" cried Lucia, eager to save all possibleillusion about her sister. Then, remorseful for disloyal thoughts: "And,if it wasn't right, I'm sure you'd not do it. You MAY fall in love withhim afterward."
"Yes," assented Margaret, kissing Lucia on an impulse of gratitude."Yes, I may. I probably shall. Surely, I'm not to go through life neverdoing anything I ought to do."
"He's really handsome, in that bold, common way. And you can teach him."
Margaret laughed with genuine mirth. "How surprised he'd be," sheexclaimed, "if he could know what's going on in my head!"
"He'll be on his knees to you," pursued Lucia, wonderfully cheered up byher confidence in the miracles Margaret's teaching would work. "Andhe'll do whatever you say."
"Yes, I'll teach him," said Margaret, herself more hopeful; for mustalways improves with acquaintance. "I'll make him over completely. Oh,he's not so bad as they think--not by any means."
Lucia made an exaggerated gesture of shivering.
"He gets on my nerves," said she. "He's so horribly abrupt andill-mannered."
"Yes, I'll train him," said Margaret, musing aloud. "He doesn'tespecially fret my nerves. A woman gets a good, strong nervoussystem--and a good, strong stomach--after she has been out a few years."She laughed. "And he thinks I'm as fine and delicate as--as--"
"As you look," suggested Lucia.
"As I look," accepted Margaret. "How we do deceive men by our looks!Really, Lucia, HE'S far more sensitive than I--far more."
"That's too silly!"
"If I were a millionth part as coarse as he is he'd fly from me. Yet I'mnot flying from him."
This was unanswerable. Lucia rejoined: "When are you going to--to doit?"
"Right away.... I want to get it over with. I can't stand thesuspense.... I can't stand it!" And Lucia was awed and silenced by thesudden, strained look of anguish almost that made Margaret's facehaggard and her eyes wild.