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The Common Law
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"You know well enough what is thought about a girl's unwisdom and the same unwisdom in a man."
"I know what is thought; but I don't think it."
"Perhaps you don't. But the world's opinion is different."
"Yes, I know it…. What is your question again? You say to me, here's a man beginning to care for a girl who has been unwise enough before she knew him to let herself believe she cared enough for another man to become his mistress. Is that it, Rita?"
"Y-yes."
"Very well. What do you wish to ask me?"
"I wish to ask you what that girl should do."
"Do? Nothing. What is there for her to do?"
"Ought she to let that man care for her?"
"Has he ever made the same mistake she has?"
"I—don't think so."
"Are you sure?"
"Almost."
"Well, then, I'd tell him."
Rita lay silent, gazing into space, her blond hair clustering around the pretty oval of her face.
Valerie waited for a few moments, then resumed her reading, glancing inquiringly at intervals over the top of her book at Rita, who seemed disinclined for further conversation.
After a long silence she sat up abruptly on the sofa and looked at Valerie.
"You asked me who was the first man for whom I posed. I'll tell you if you wish to know. It was Penrhyn Cardemon!… And I was eighteen years old."
Valerie dropped her book in astonishment.
"Penrhyn Cardemon!" she repeated. "Why, he isn't an artist!"
"He has a studio."
"Where?"
"On Fifth Avenue."
"What does he do there?"
"Deviltry."
Valerie's face was blank; Rita sat sullenly cradling one knee in her arms, looking at the floor, her soft, gold hair hanging over her face and forehead so that it shadowed her face.
"I've meant to tell you for a long time," she went on; "I would have told you if Cardemon had ever sent for you to—to pose—in his place."
"He asked me to go on The Mohave."
"I'd have warned you if Louis Neville had not objected."
"Do you suppose Louis knew?"
"No. He scarcely knows Penrhyn Cardemon. His family and Cardemon are neighbours in the country, but the Nevilles and the Collises are snobs—I'm speaking plainly, Valerie—and they have no use for that red-faced, red-necked, stocky young millionaire."
Valerie sat thinking; Rita, nursing her knee, brooded under the bright tangle of her hair, linking and unlinking her fingers as she gently swayed her foot to and fro.
"That's how it is," she said at last. "Now you know."
Valerie's head was still lowered, but she raised her eyes and looked straight at Rita where she sat on the sofa's edge, carelessly swinging her foot to and fro.
"Was it—Penrhyn Cardemon?" she asked.
"Yes…. I thought it had killed any possibility of ever caring—that way—for any other man."
"But it hasn't?"
"No."
"And—you are in love?"
"Yes."
"With John Burleson?"
Rita looked up from the burnished disorder of her hair:
"I have been in love with him for three years," she said, "and you are the only person in the world except myself who knows it."
Valerie rose and walked over to Rita and seated herself beside her. Then she put one arm around her; and Rita bit her lip and stared at space, swinging her slender foot.
"You poor dear," said Valerie. Rita's bare foot hung inert; the silken slipper dropped from it to the floor; and then her head fell, sideways, resting on Valerie's shoulder, showering her body with its tangled gold.
Valerie said, thoughtfully: "Girls don't seem to have a very good chance…. I had no idea about Cardemon—that he was that kind of a man. A girl never knows. Men can be so attractive and so nice…. And so many of them are merciless…. I suppose you thought you loved him."
"Y—yes."
"We all think that, I suppose," said Valerie, thoughtfully.
"Other girls have thought it of Penrhyn Cardemon."
"Other girls?"
"I know what is thought; but I don't think it."
"Perhaps you don't. But the world's opinion is different."
"Yes, I know it…. What is your question again? You say to me, here's a man beginning to care for a girl who has been unwise enough before she knew him to let herself believe she cared enough for another man to become his mistress. Is that it, Rita?"
"Y-yes."
"Very well. What do you wish to ask me?"
"I wish to ask you what that girl should do."
"Do? Nothing. What is there for her to do?"
"Ought she to let that man care for her?"
"Has he ever made the same mistake she has?"
"I—don't think so."
"Are you sure?"
"Almost."
"Well, then, I'd tell him."
Rita lay silent, gazing into space, her blond hair clustering around the pretty oval of her face.
Valerie waited for a few moments, then resumed her reading, glancing inquiringly at intervals over the top of her book at Rita, who seemed disinclined for further conversation.
After a long silence she sat up abruptly on the sofa and looked at Valerie.
"You asked me who was the first man for whom I posed. I'll tell you if you wish to know. It was Penrhyn Cardemon!… And I was eighteen years old."
Valerie dropped her book in astonishment.
"Penrhyn Cardemon!" she repeated. "Why, he isn't an artist!"
"He has a studio."
"Where?"
"On Fifth Avenue."
"What does he do there?"
"Deviltry."
Valerie's face was blank; Rita sat sullenly cradling one knee in her arms, looking at the floor, her soft, gold hair hanging over her face and forehead so that it shadowed her face.
"I've meant to tell you for a long time," she went on; "I would have told you if Cardemon had ever sent for you to—to pose—in his place."
"He asked me to go on The Mohave."
"I'd have warned you if Louis Neville had not objected."
"Do you suppose Louis knew?"
"No. He scarcely knows Penrhyn Cardemon. His family and Cardemon are neighbours in the country, but the Nevilles and the Collises are snobs—I'm speaking plainly, Valerie—and they have no use for that red-faced, red-necked, stocky young millionaire."
Valerie sat thinking; Rita, nursing her knee, brooded under the bright tangle of her hair, linking and unlinking her fingers as she gently swayed her foot to and fro.
"That's how it is," she said at last. "Now you know."
Valerie's head was still lowered, but she raised her eyes and looked straight at Rita where she sat on the sofa's edge, carelessly swinging her foot to and fro.
"Was it—Penrhyn Cardemon?" she asked.
"Yes…. I thought it had killed any possibility of ever caring—that way—for any other man."
"But it hasn't?"
"No."
"And—you are in love?"
"Yes."
"With John Burleson?"
Rita looked up from the burnished disorder of her hair:
"I have been in love with him for three years," she said, "and you are the only person in the world except myself who knows it."
Valerie rose and walked over to Rita and seated herself beside her. Then she put one arm around her; and Rita bit her lip and stared at space, swinging her slender foot.
"You poor dear," said Valerie. Rita's bare foot hung inert; the silken slipper dropped from it to the floor; and then her head fell, sideways, resting on Valerie's shoulder, showering her body with its tangled gold.
Valerie said, thoughtfully: "Girls don't seem to have a very good chance…. I had no idea about Cardemon—that he was that kind of a man. A girl never knows. Men can be so attractive and so nice…. And so many of them are merciless…. I suppose you thought you loved him."
"Y—yes."
"We all think that, I suppose," said Valerie, thoughtfully.
"Other girls have thought it of Penrhyn Cardemon."
"Other girls?"
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Последний отзыв
Книга дельная. Без воды, приводятся реальные кейсы и способы их разрешения. Много практичных полезных советов и методик. Кое-что уже испробовала в дел...
Далее