Juggernaut: A Veiled Record

XXVI

February, – . Breakfasted this morning in my own room. Could not entertain the thought of ever seeing or speaking to Edgar again.

I looked haggard when I got up. I did not sleep an hour all night. While I was making a sorry attempt to eat some breakfast, and strengthening my determination never to speak to Edgar again, Woolet brought up a note, saying that Edgar told him to give it to me as soon as I was up.

I was like adamant and determined not to look at it. I should have sent it down to him immediately, but for the curiosity such a thing would have aroused among the servants.

As Woolet was going, he said:

"Mr. Braine said Madame would please forward all his mail that came to-day."

I was thunderstruck. Forward his mail! I snatched up the note, all my determination gone.

It was but a few lines, saying that he took the 9:10 train for New York, on business, and would return on Friday – this is Tuesday.

I felt like a baby. I sent Susanne away, and burst out crying. It seemed to me that I must see him, and soften the situation a little.

I could never have consented to this thing that he proposed, but it does not seem terrible enough to justify such severity – this morning.

It seems to me that I cannot endure the time until Friday – but when he returns I shall treat him with proper dignity, of course. It is my duty to make him feel that I judge his conduct severely. And yet, I will be forgiving and affectionate – to an extent. Only to an extent. (This will be very hard for me.)

I felt so wretched that I thought a drive would do me good, so at two, I went out. I became so tired and disgusted with meeting people and bowing to them, that I turned around and came home. There is nothing that makes a miserable person feel more miserable than to see people happier than herself.

I felt as though I was ready to drop when I got up the steps, and who should be in the reception-room but this very bone of contention, awaiting my return. I felt like flying up the stairs and locking myself in my room, but instead of doing so childish a thing, I walked into the room with admirable dignity.

I intended to see that he made his call very short; but after a moment we got talking of the new minister and his funny little wife, and in the gossip I seemed quite to forget my wretchedness for a while, and we went into the library, where it is cosier, and sat down by the fire and had a delightful afternoon.

Mrs. Hetherington called – as she pays no attention to days, but runs in promiscuously – and I sent word, "Not at home." I felt a little shocked at myself, and hardly knew what Mr. Everet thought – for it is a little unusual, of course, to keep a man whom you have met so seldom, gossiping a whole afternoon in your library, and denying yourself to all other callers – devoting yourself exclusively to him. And I shouldn't have done it – though there was really no harm in it – if Ed had not said what he did, last night.

I didn't encourage Mr. Everet to call again, nor try to be agreeable at all, but was just usual and everyday, just as I shall always be when he calls.

He seemed quite at home, and we had tea in the library, and he left just in time for me to dress for the English Minister's reception – where we met two hours later.

He – Mr. Everet – is more interesting than any of the men I have met. There is a dignity about him that I like, and that I have never found in anyone else but Edgar. I did not know what he would think of my letting him stay as I did, but he accepted it most naturally, as a matter of course – and it was a temptation, for I was so miserable that anything seemed acceptable that enlivened me a little.

He noticed my mood, I think, for he was not flippant and tiresome, but sympathetic – though we only referred to the most commonplace subjects. He remarked that I looked weary and pale. It does a woman good to have these little things noticed. It seemed quite like Edgar – as he used to be.

Mr. Everet said it was refreshing to find a natural, unaffected, candid woman in Washington. I do think it must seem a relief to men. If women did as Edgar wishes me to do, the men would be in a terrible plight. They would have to hate all the women in self-defence.

I couldn't help observing the interest Mr. Everet seems to feel in me – though I really should not have thought of it if Edgar had not suggested it. For a moment there was a certain fascination in the idea of making a strong, dignified man do just what a helpless insignificant little woman like me wants him to do.

As a sort of experiment, I made him go to Gladys Grayson's after the affair at the minister's although he had said that he had an important appointment at eleven, and that a great deal depended on his keeping it – but he went to the Graysons'. Of course, I didn't care a fig whether he went or not; only, as I say, it was a kind of experiment.

I'm frightfully tired, and here it is three o'clock and I still up.

Edgar will be at home on Friday, and this is Wednesday morning. I shall be glad to tell him again, how I scorn his proposition – I shall tell him that Mr. Everet noticed my pallor, and I think he will feel a little ashamed of himself. He ought to.

XXVII

February – . Arose, breakfasted, and went for a drive; stopped at Gladys's on the way home; had tea with her in her boudoir.

Mr. Grayson wanted to come in too, but Gladys wouldn't let him. She says he is really a terrible bore; that she has to keep him down or he would run right over her. I wish Edgar would run right over me. She says that Mr. Grayson never seems to remember that after a woman has discharged all her duties, she is absolutely too worn out for the little et ceteras and asides of life. I think she is right. She is one of those women who carry conviction with all they say; but I always feel in some way that Edgar is a duty instead of an et cetera and an aside. I dare say I shall get over this in time. Gladys assures me I will.

She said to-day that I was "just cut out" for a successful diplomat; that I am so sincere and straightforward in my manner that I am the last person on earth to suspect. She says it will be my "trump card" when I know how to play it.

I presume I am lacking in fine appreciation, but in some way this seemed to cheapen sincerity. It does not, of course, for of all women in the world, Gladys would be the last to endure cheap sentiment or cheap lace. Of all the spotless, high-bred, delicate, forcible women I have ever seen, she is the most so.

I blushed to think of the cold contempt she would feel for me should she even know that I had heard such a proposition. I represented to her a case like mine, as though it were something I had heard of, and asked her what she could think of such a thing. Her haughty indignation was superb, inspiring. It did me good. I feel just so myself. I wanted to blush for even having made Mr. Everet go there the other night.

Well, nothing else of any account happened to-day.

I met Mrs. Stevens and looked the other way, at the pug of the wife of the Secretary of the Navy. It is so strange that she has no better taste than to wear a blue gown with a brown dog.

I chatted a moment with Senator Stacy's wife, and told her that her second child was a picture – (it is – of ugliness). I felt it a duty to say this, however, as the only thing false about it was the impression it conveyed to her – and the Senator's good will is quite necessary to Edgar's plans.

Then I went to the Talbots', and wound up with the Farringtons' reception.

And now, thank heaven, I am going to bed, and Edgar will be at home in the morning. I shall go nowhere to-morrow night, for he will be glad to have me at home – unless he should treat me coldly. I won't even think of that.

XXIII

February 16, 18 – . To-day Edgar came into the library after dinner – I dined alone, and was taking my coffee there, cosily, by the fire. He stood in the door a moment, looking at me, before he entered the room. The first thing he said was:

"Good Heavens! What should not a woman like you be able to accomplish – "

This, after having been out of town three days!

He said it as though wholly engrossed with that one thought – that my beauty and charm are valuable to him as a means by which to accomplish, instead of being things dear to him for their own sake, because they belong to him.

I daresay I am foolishly sensitive about this. I know he adores me. He proved the injustice of my thought a moment later – while the impression was yet in my mind. He hurried across the room and threw himself on his knees by my chair. I had not risen to meet him, as my heart and first impulse had prompted, because his greeting had repelled me, but I felt humiliated and reproached myself for my pettiness afterwards.

I was thankful that he was so engrossed with seeing me again as not to notice it. He threw himself on his knees by me and kissed my hands.

He looks tired and worn. It impressed me for the first time as he knelt there with his arms about my waist. He said, in a tone that brought the tears to my eyes:

"I have thought of you almost constantly, dear, since I have been away from you."

He said it wistfully. I knew his mind had been on the scene we had, here, in this room where I am writing, before he left.

There was a sort of dreary surrender in his tone; but every inflection of his voice, and every glance, conveyed passionate love for me. I should have felt no reproach or misgiving had it been otherwise, but his apparent giving up, and hopelessness, touched me.

I do not know that I have done right. I have not mentioned the subject, nor has he referred to it in any way since he got back this evening. I don't know that it is anything sufficiently out of the usual order of things to justify my decision. That Edgar is cruelly disappointed is certain. That he does not reproach me is certain. That he loves me better than he ever has done before, is certain.

Two months ago, had I greeted him after a twenty-four hours' absence as indifferently as I fear I did to-night, he would not have forgotten it in a month, but he was so thoroughly engrossed in his own happiness in getting home to me to-night, that he did not even notice my manner.

I feel my purpose suddenly shaken. The memory of his face, its resignation, its weary expression, haunts me. One moment I am impelled to say "I will do anything you ask," and the next, I am seized with repulsion at the thought of accomplishing anything by such a means.

The idea of a woman's receiving adulation from another man than her husband, seems a scandalous thing; but the idea of her courting it – setting out with a deliberate purpose to win it – seems monstrous.

And yet, if Edgar doesn't rebel, I don't really see much excuse for obstinacy on my part. It does seem a little "far fetched" in me when I come to consider the circumstances. If it were a usual thing, a thing that would be considered as a matter of course, I should feel less strongly about it, but it is so extraordinary – at least it seems so to me.

I can imagine Mrs. Hetherington exclaiming: "Disgraceful!" and see Gladys's look of cold surprise, tinged with her ironical expression that she preserves for the little, unconventional escapades of A, B and C. This kind of thing is intolerable to me. When I think of this, every fibre of my body resents the possibility of such a thing. And when I remember his face to-night, I can no longer think on the other side of the question.

He is over at the Arlington at this moment, engaged in heaven knows what, that will send him home to me looking more depressed and miserable than ever.

Some one taps lightly on the door, and opens it without ceremony, and Helen throws down her pen as Braine enters.

It is as she has expected. His face and manner indicate fatigue. He brightens up and says with a show of gayety so evidently forced that Helen's lips tremble a little:

"Well, dearest!"

She goes slowly to him, and takes his hands which he is holding out to her. She looks at him wistfully, with a half sad little smile on her face. She says softly:

"Well?"

"You are all alone to-night? No receptions, nor 'affairs'?"

The glimmer-smile deepens a little, and she draws him towards the fire. She says – pushing him into the chair:

"Oh yes – plenty of them – Gladys gave a dinner to the Stones to-night."

"And you are not there?" with a little surprise in his voice, but an expression half-eager, half-pleased on his face.

She brightens as she notes the look, and says softly:

"No, I like this better."

She leans against him, and rubs her cheek carelessly against his shoulder.

The gratified expression deepens an instant; then Braine says a little hurriedly, with a touch of anxiety in the tone:

"You must not neglect anything for me, dearest. Social duties are everything here. Don't mind me. I sha'n't feel neglected."

Helen slowly raises her head. She stares at him for a moment. He is looking abstractedly into the fire, and patting her hand in a mechanical way. He does not see her face. The expression of pleasure and gratification has died out of it. Expressions of astonishment, humiliation, resentment and hauteur replace each other there successively. Now she says in a cold tone:

"I did not remain on that account, of course. I had a slight headache – a mere nothing – " as Braine looks up anxiously – "But I felt that the crush there to-night would not help it."

She finishes a little less coldly. Braine has not noticed the tone. When she has said that the headache is a "mere nothing," he at once goes back to his meditations – but the sudden look of anxious sympathy has at once touched her, and caused another revulsion of feeling in his favor.

She crosses the room and picks up a book from the table.

Suddenly Braine says, as though thinking aloud:

"If this should go any farther it would be a bad thing for Grayson."

Helen looks up from her book:

"Why? What is it?"

Braine arouses himself, and speaks interestedly:

"This land grant bill! Gladys has been trying to run things, it seems, and has made a botch of it. She has gone too headlong, and compromised herself to such an extent with the committee chief, that when she was prepared for a coup de grace, the congressman turned the tables. It is a bad thing for Grayson. The man has her in his power, and swears that unless Grayson will actively uphold the counter-policy, he will make it uncomfortable for his wife. Grayson has just been telling me all about it, and is almost helpless in the matter. Something must be done."

Helen is on her feet. Her eyes are wide with astonishment, and something like horror. She stammers:

"What – what – what?"

Her tone startles Braine. He looks around:

"Why Helen! What is the matter, child, I didn't imagine it would startle you so. Of course you feel anxiety for Gladys – friends as you are – but she is a clever woman, and I have no doubt she will get out of it in some way."

He speaks reassuringly. She comes to his side. She says hoarsely, with excitement expressed in every movement;

"Has – has – has Gladys been working through Mr. Dalzel for this scheme?"

Her fingers twist nervously. Braine cannot understand her. He looks at her in bewilderment:

"Working for it? Why certainly, dear. Why shouldn't she – her husband's interests are hers. Yes. She has been doing what she could, of course – she has done her best, and isn't to blame for such a faux pas as this; but it seems a little stupid in her. There would be no danger of such a thing on your part!"

He makes the remark more to himself than to her, and leans back, watching her through his half-closed lids. How proud he is of this woman! How he loves her!

Helen stands quietly by his side, looking intently at the coals in the grate. Presently she says in a low, calm tone of conviction, elation, irrevocable decision:

"No, I should make no mistakes."

A silence. After a moment:

"I have been thinking over the little conversation we had before you left, Edgar. I have changed my mind. I think I will see – Everet."

Braine rises from his chair. He stands looking at her for a moment. He takes her in his arms.

XXIX

February, 18 – . Well, I really cannot express my feelings. It seems to me that in twenty-four hours I have been metamorphosed and am some one else living in another world.

Now that I have undertaken this, I have no idea of failing. I will succeed, if it costs every thing. I suddenly feel that I am made for this.

Gladys called to-day. Everet had just made a short call and gone. – He did not know whether he left by the front steps to the street, or was making a descent from heaven into the other place – and yet, I made only the least exertion to please, imaginable. It made me feel superb, magnificent, inspired, when I thought of what I can do if I really try.

I felt a mad exultation over Gladys. She was as pale as a ghost, and hardly seemed to know what she was talking about. I should never betray my defeat or difficulty if I should meet with it. I felt such a superiority that I almost felt like shrieking it at her, when remembering how she has deceived me all this time. I was secretly delighted, though, at my astonishing self-control, for she never noticed a thing. She said:

"How I envy your freedom from care and anxiety, and your innocence of all the wire-pulling that some have to do."

She looked fagged out when she said this, I should not have known her. She never spoke in this manner before.

I smiled and said, "I presumed it must be wearing – especially if one was not clever enough to succeed."

She looked at me sharply, and with some surprise. Yesterday I would have shrivelled all up under the look. To-day I just smiled calmly.

If nothing else urged me on – if I were not doing this for Edgar's sake – I should be wild to attempt it just to prove my power and ability superior to Gladys's. To think how completely she has deceived me all this time!