The Pest 30

The Pest 30

CHAPTER XX

 

 

THE next few days were to Marian days of tumult. Her abandonment of

herself to Geraldstein had wrought in her a far more serious and far

different change to that which had resulted from her leaving her husband

and going to live with Maddison. The latter loved her, Geraldstein did

not, indeed made no pretense of doing so, and her feeling toward him was

simply one of desire for physical excitement and abandon. With Maddison

it was, though of course she did not consciously argue it out as such,

an illegal marriage; with Geraldstein she stood merely on the footing of

a woman with a price. She now felt utterly adrift, floating upon the

ferocious stream of sensual pleasure, intoxicated with excitement, and,

as is always the case with every form of intoxication, the hours of

recovery, of struggling back to sobriety, were hours of pain,

half-regrets, half-formed resolutions toward future restraint, and of

deep depression and reaction.

 

She realized fully that she had sold herself to Geraldstein when she

received a letter from him inclosing her dressmaker’s bill receipted,

and an apology from him for having ventured without first asking her

permission, to take this care off her hands. Her first impulse was to be

indignantly angry; then with a half laugh, half shudder, she threw the

bill aside. As she had sold herself she would be foolish to reject any

portion of the price.

 

Very quickly all regret for what she had done, and for having committed

herself irretrievably to the life of a common woman, faded away. The

sensation of physical intoxication, of delight in the delirium of

yielding to every sensual impulse, was fresh and keen, and had not yet

lost anything of its savor. Momentary hesitations, indeed, came to her,

but arising solely from the fear that perhaps she might have jeopardized

her chances with West. She had not yet lost all ambition, though mere

love of pleasure was rapidly assuming imperious sway over her deeds and

thoughts.

 

Physical reaction and depression came to her now and again, as it must

come after all pleasures which are themselves entirely physical.

Lassitude, tiredness, irritability assailed her, and more and more

frequently she felt compelled to seek in stimulants an escape from

_ennui_ and weariness. She talked freely and with frank confidence to

Mrs. Harding, in whose companionship she no longer felt any restraint.

Hitherto this woman, with her outspoken brutality, had half amused, half

offended her; but now there was full community of aims and practice

between them; their lives were alike, so were their pleasures and their

longings.

 

She laughed with her over her dealings with Geraldstein and joked over

the gross deception she was practicing on Maddison. She canvassed with

her the schemes she had formed with regard to West, and the difficulty

and possibilities of accomplishing her aims. All this and more that she

observed for herself, Mrs. Harding reported fully to her employer Davis,

who in turn communicated it to Mortimer, who in turn kept his counsel,

believing it to be best to wait until a fitting opportunity arose for

opening Maddison’s eyes to the real character of the woman for whom he

was sacrificing so much of the present and perhaps all of the future.

 

Early one evening, about a week after the dinner at Goldoni’s, West

called upon Marian. Although it was only a little past six o’clock he

was in evening dress.

 

“I’m so glad to find you at home,” he said. “I’m all alone and have been

working like a nigger never does. I wonder will you take pity on me and

come and dine with me? We could go on to the theater or a music-hall

afterward, whatever you like best. I do hope you’re not already booked

up—and will take pity on a lonesome grass-widower.”

 

Marian had not hoped for any so early an opening as this, and felt that

she must be guarded in taking advantage of it. West, she felt assured,

was not a man who cared to buy his company cheaply.

 

“I should like it very much,” she answered. “I don’t often go

out—George doesn’t like my going about much while he’s away. But—I’m

sure he wouldn’t mind my dining with you. I’m a bit lonesome, too; it’s

rather dreary sometimes when he’s not here.”

 

“Well, let’s cheer each other up and be sociable. I got a regular scare

this afternoon; for the first time in my life I felt not young, and I’m

blowed if I’m going to grow old yet—not me. But work, work, work

and——”

 

He broke off without finishing his sentence and stared gloomily into the

fire.

 

“You old!” said Marian, laughing, “I can’t imagine you that. I thought

you were one of those men too full of energy ever to grow old. I expect

you’re tired.”

 

“I guess so, but I shall stay tired, unless I have something to stop my

stewing over business. I’ve had a tough fight for the last few days, but

I’ve downed a man who tried to down me; but he fought well and has tried

me. Young men ought to feel all the fresher after a fight.”

 

“Fight! It must be good to be a man and able to fight. A woman’s just an

onlooker—a silly, helpless onlooker. Oh! How I should love to be a man

and to fight! It’s sickening,” she exclaimed, pacing angrily up and down

the room, her fists clenched, her cheeks glowing, all for the moment

forgotten except the fiery ambition which had been smoldering and not

yet extinct. “It’s sickening to have one’s hands tied. A woman can’t

_do_ anything, she’s not allowed. She’s just a doll, an ugly doll or a

pretty doll, and she squeaks the words she’s expected to say.”

 

“You’re not like that, though,” West said, watching her with undisguised

admiration.

 

Here for the first time he was in contact with a woman both beautiful

and intellectually gifted. He envied Maddison, who, he felt assured,

could never call forth all that Marian could give a man. Maddison did

not deserve her, and if he could he would win her away from him. He

thought of his wife, the pretty doll; he looked at Marian. This was the

woman who could stir his pulse and who would spur him on to fight.

 

“You’re not like that,” he repeated; “you forget one thing. A man fights

for himself; a woman may not be able to do that, but she can make a man

fight for her as well as for himself. That’s the fight worth having.

Often and often, do you know, when I’ve scored heavily, I’ve just

dropped my hands and wondered what on earth I was working for. Ambition?

That’s not worth a damn. Money? I’ve got more now than I know how to

spend; I just spend it, risk it, for the sake of making more—a regular

wild gambler’s risk very often. But—well, be a good soul, pop on a

pretty frock and come along.”

 

“I’ll come. Would you like a drink? A B. and S., or anything—well, not

anything, for my cellar’s jolly low at present.”

 

“Not for me, thanks. Appetizers spoil my appetite, and I’ve a rattling

good one at the present moment. How long’ll you be—half an hour—or an

hour—eh?”

 

“Half an hour, really not more. I won’t keep you waiting.”

 

“Right. Well, I’ll be back in half an hour, sharp.”

 

“But won’t you wait here?”

 

“No, thanks; I’ll go for a stroll and a cigarette. _Au revoir._”

 

They were both punctual, in fact, Marian was waiting for him.

 

He held out a spray of green orchids.

 

“I went out to get you these—do wear them.”

 

She looked magnificent, he thought; a conqueror.

 

Under Maddison’s guidance she had cultivated her innate taste for

Oriental color and magnificence; gold and silver embroideries, touches

of brilliant flaming orange and scarlet seemed to defy, but in reality

enhanced, the splendid richness of her red-gold hair.

 

She stood before West in a strange greenish-blue cloak, with heavy gold

tassels and braid and with a hoodlike drapery of sable round her

shoulders. An antique Oriental silver comb, studded with green and blue

stones, held her hair.

 

“How strange,” he said, as she fastened the flowers in the corsage of

her amber gown, “how strange! If I’d known what you were going to put

on, I couldn’t have chosen the flowers better.”

 

“There’s one great pull you women have over us,” West said, as he looked

round the restaurant with its over-gorgeous gilding and its over-fed

crowd of men and women, “you can dress; men merely wear clothes. Just

look at all these silly black coats and blank white shirt fronts. What a

difference it would make if we weren’t afraid of colors and dressed for

effect!”

 

“It tempts women to wear what doesn’t suit them, though.”

 

“Either you’re not tempted, or you’re very clever and strong-minded.

Brave too—there are not many who could stand those colors you have, and

no one else I know who could wear them as if any other colors would be

wrong. You forget that among my many businesses I’m a man milliner. It’s

the most difficult job I’ve had to run that department. Men are easy

enough to content, no matter what they want to buy—clothes, cigars,

wine; they’ve no scope for choice, it’s just a question of good or bad;

but women—and dresses! My goodness! Now, I wonder if your taste in

dinners is—well, I was going to say as good as your taste in dress, but

what I really mean is—the same as mine. No soup; just fish, a bird and

a sweet and one wine?”

 

“I’m not going to give myself away. You’re my host; the guests don’t

choose but take. But I’ll tell you candidly afterward whether I’ve

enjoyed it or not. Unless you’d rather I’d say nice things whether I

mean them or not.”

 

He laughed.

 

“It’s difficult to know—difficult to choose between pretty insincerity

or candid—cold water.”

 

“I should have thought you would always choose candor.”

 

“Why?”

 

“A woman’s why; I’ve no reason, but I sort of feel it. Aren’t I right?”

 

“Do you really expect me to answer—candidly? To confess being fond of

being humbugged, or to tell a story and say I like candor always? Of

course I don’t; I like being made a fool of, so now you know and can act

accordingly.”

 

“I? You’ve handicapped me. It’s no fun being humbugged when you know it,

is it?”

 

“I’m not so sure of that,” said West, critically examining the _sole à

la Marguery_, which the waiter submitted for his inspection; “I fancy it

rather depends upon the humbugger. It’s funny in business to know a man

is trying to ‘do’ you, and to know that he doesn’t know you suspect him.

And—I think most men are rather pleasantly tickled when they find a

pretty woman who thinks it worth while getting round them. That’s where

you have a man; the greatest compliment you can pay a man is to flatter

him by trying to lay hold of him.”

 

“Doesn’t that depend upon the motive? A rich, ugly man must get rather tired of being run after.”