What Will People Say? A Novel
father and I rowed together in the same college crew, and Harvey's
father was my best friend. May I speak freely to you?"
She responded immediately to the almost affection of his tone. "I wish
you would."
"What little success in life I have had," Tait began, with the somewhat
formal speech of an orator, "has been due to my habit of foreseeing
dangerous combinations and preventing them, or running away from them.
The most dangerous combination on earth is a woman, a man, and another
man. No married woman has a right to the--I believe you said
'friendship,' of a man who cares for her as Harvey cares for you."
She extracted from his warning only the hidden sweet. "And he does care
for me still!"
"But you've married another man."
"Of course," she answered. "But do you think that I can find Mr. Enslee
so fascinating that I must give up all my friends?"
"Friends!" Tait exclaimed, with bitterness. "In my day, Mrs. Enslee, I
have seen some of the proudest families in New York dragged into the
mire of public shame by tragedies that began as innocent experiments in
friendship. Don't risk it, Mrs. Enslee. You are on dangerous ground."
She mused aloud. "And you think he loves me still?"
Tait tossed his mane in despair. "Good Lord! That's all my words have
meant to you? Well, since we are talking so bluntly, you'll perhaps
permit me to say that I know you are not happily married. Everybody knew
you never would be happy with Willie Enslee."
"I thought I'd be as happy with him as with anybody-else," she answered,
meekly; "but since you assume that I am not happy, why deny me the
friendship of a man whose society I am fond of? Don't you think that
everybody has the right to be happy?"
"Indeed I don't!"
"Doesn't the Constitution, or the Declaration of Independence, or
something guarantee everybody the right to life, liberty, and the
pursuit of--"
"Yes, the pursuit!" Tait cried. "But the Constitution doesn't guarantee
that anybody will get happiness, and there are laws that take away life,
take away liberty, take away even the right to the pursuit of
happiness."
She was on unfamiliar ground among constitutions. She was more at home
in emotion. "Let's not get into a legal debate. All I know is that
Harvey used to love me, and I loved him too much to marry him, because
he was poor, and because I was bred to reckless extravagance. Besides, I
had ambitions. I didn't know then what a vanity they were. But
now--well, I don't pretend to be a saint, but I have a heart--a kind of
heart. I love only one man on earth. You know that he still loves me.
Don't rob us of the happiness we can find in each other's society--the
innocent happiness."
A gesture of unbelief escaped the Ambassador. "How long could such love
remain innocent--when it begins by being unlawful?"
"But I love him," she insisted, "and he loves me with all his heart.
Some day, I presume"--the coming sorrow cast its shadow over her
already--"some day, no doubt, he'll find somebody he loves more, and
he'll marry her. He can have anybody now; but when he came to me he was
poor; he needed money. But I also needed money! Things have changed;
money has come to him, as it always comes, too late. But that's no
reason for robbing me of my chance for a little while of happiness. And
you mustn't--oh, you mustn't rob him of the happiness I could give him!"
Tait was always afraid of himself when his tenderness was appealed to,
for he knew from experience that such an appeal if harkened a moment too
long, would smother all judgment, all resistance. He felt his heart
yearning toward Persis' world-old cry, "Happiness! happiness! a little
happiness!" He tried to be harsh.
"But, my good woman--my dear girl--you had your chance; you made your
choice. You must pay the price. We can't all have the love we want. I
can't. You can't."
Persis laid her hand on his arm. "But why? Why?"
And Tait, after a weak temptation, girded himself for the eternal battle
with unholy happiness, and answered with Mosaic simplicity:
"Because it is against the law."
"But you know," Persis returned, unabashed, "you were once a lawyer--you
know that the laws in the books are only made for those who haven't the
skill to bend them without breaking them."
"Such a love as yours is against the great unwritten laws of society."
Persis would not be crushed with precepts. She sneered: "Society! Is
anybody on the square? Why shouldn't we be happy in our own way?"
Tait hesitated, then answered coldly: "There are ten thousand reasons,
Mrs. Enslee. I'll give you the one that will appeal to you most
strongly: 'You're bound to get found out.'"
"Don't you think I have any discretion? Do you think I am a fool?"
"The first sign of being a fool is trying to play double with the world.
Some day--let me warn you--some day you will find yourself so tangled up
in your own cleverness that you will be delivered, bound hand and foot,
to the shame--yes, the shame of a horrible exposure."
She blenched at this facer. "Don't speak to me as though I were a
criminal!"
He struck out again. "Then don't become one. You have no right to love
Captain Forbes, nor he to love you. It is a simple question of duty."
"Duty?" she raged. "I want happiness. I'm like a hungry woman standing
before a window filled with bread. Your duty says, Stay there and
starve. But it isn't duty that lets people starve. It's being afraid."
Tait put off all restraint of courtesy. "Oh, I understand your creed.
It's the creed of your set. You're not afraid of any risk. You fear
nothing but self-sacrifice. Your greatest horror is being bored. But
you'll find that there is a worse boredom than you suffer now--the ennui
of exile, of ostracism. The very set that practises your theory is the
most merciless to those that get found out. It's like a pack of wolves
on the chase. The one that falls or is wounded is torn to pieces by the
rest, and then they rush on again. I mean to save Harvey from that pack
at any cost."
She had no refuge but a prayer. "I implore you not to break my heart."
Tait donned in manner the black cap of a judge. "Such hearts as yours
ought to be broken, Mrs. Enslee, for the health of the world. I
understand you. I don't blame you. I don't blame your mother in her
grave. It was her breeding, as it is yours and that of your pack. You
are the people who bring wealth into disrepute. The noise of your revels
drowns the quiet charities of the rich who are also good and busy with
noble works. I'm afraid of you all. But I don't blame you. I don't blame
the criminals, the thieves, madmen; but I fear them. And in all mercy I
would mercilessly put them out of the way of doing harm to the peace of
the world."
Persis saw that for once appeal could not melt. She said, with
resignation: "Then you are my sworn enemy?"
"No," Tait protested, "I would be your friend as far as I safely can.
But I love Harvey as a son. I would save him from the fire of perdition,
beautiful as it is, bright as it is. And you are the fire."
"And so you will fight me?" Persis faltered.
"To the death!" the old jurist cried, as he got heavily to his feet;
"though it breaks Harvey's heart--and your heart--and mine." He
staggered weakly and jolted against the divan.
CHAPTER LVIII
Persis, forgetting that he was her enemy, leaped to his aid with
instinctive womanliness. "You are ill; let me get you something."
Tait straightened himself with an effort, saying: "I'm all right now,
thank you. I mustn't let myself get excited, that's all." He was touched
by her sudden charity in his behalf. He gazed at her sadly, and, taking
her hand, spoke venerably as a father. He was too sad for her sake to be
sad for his own. "I'm sorry for you, little woman. You've a big, warm
heart; but this is a cold, hard world, and you mustn't try to break its
laws. They are based on the scandals and the tragedies of thousands of
years, millions on millions of foolish lovers. The world is old, my
child, and it is stronger than any of us. And it can punish without
mercy. Don't risk it."
An almost unknown earnestness stirred Persis. "You're right, of course.
I suppose I must give up all hope of happiness. It's my punishment. I'll
take my medicine like a little man."
"That's splendid!" Tait cried. "Live square--in the open. Respect the
conventionalities; they're the world's code of morals. If you really
love Harvey, let him go his way."
"I'll prove to you that I do love him!" she said, laughing nervously.
"I'll give him up. He used to think I was heartless and mercenary. He
shall go on thinking so. It's awfully hard, but it is the one way I can
help him, isn't it?"
The old man squeezed her slim hand in both of his. "It's the one way.
God bless you! And you won't see him again?"
"No," she said, with all the vigor of her soul. Then she caught a
glimpse of Forbes. He had returned hurriedly. He was looking for her.
She amended her promise: "Except to tell him good-by. I've got to tell
him good-by--and make him think I was only--only fooling him, haven't
I?"
The old man's triumph collapsed again. But he could not demand
everything. He nodded and left her as Forbes appeared at the door. With
the mocking laughter of fiends, the band brayed another tango. It was
faint in the distance, but it was a satanic comment. Persis made haste
to get her business done.
"Well, Harvey, good-by. I'm off to Capri to-morrow."
"But I thought--" he stammered. "You're not going to leave just as we
meet again? I thought--"
"You never could take a joke, could you, Harvey?"
"But you said--"
"I'm sorry, Harvey. But I'm married now."
She was turning his own weapons on him. He was befuddled with her whims.
He repeated, "You told me you loved me, that you were unhappy."
"You ought to have known I was only fooling you. I'm Mrs. Enslee now.
And whom God hath joined--"
He was beside himself with rage. She had wheedled him out of his honor,
and now she mocked him where she had left him. He sneered:
"God didn't join you and Enslee. God's voice doesn't speak every time a
hired preacher reaches out for a wedding fee! It was the devil that
joined you, and God keeps you asunder. God joined you with me. He meant
us for each other. But you hadn't the courage to face a little poverty.
You wanted prestige and position, and you bought them with the love that
belonged to me. You haven't the courage now to deny that you are
unhappy, that you love me still."
She trembled before the storm of his wrath. "But I don't--I don't love
you any more. I am happy."
"You can't look me in the eyes, Persis, and repeat that lie."
She tried vainly to meet his glare. She mumbled weakly, "Why, I'm
happy--enough."
"Do you love me still?" he demanded.
"N-no! Of course not!"
He wanted to strike her, primevally, for a coward, a liar, a female cad.
He controlled himself and groaned: "Well, that makes everything simpler.
Good-by."
She seized his arm and threw off the disguise. "Harvey, Harvey, I can't
stand it. I can't endure the thought of it. I can't live without your
love. I don't care what happens. I never did love anybody else but you.
I never shall."
His love came back in a wild wave. He seized her blindly, and she hid
blindly in his arms, sobbing: "I am so unhappy, so unutterably lonely!
You must love me, Harvey, for I love you. I love you."
They were as oblivious of their peril as Tristan and Isolde in the spell
of the love philter. Only the old Ambassador, who had hovered near to
shield their farewell, saw them. The vision was like a thunderbolt. To
hear of a scandal, to be convinced of it is as nothing to seeing it.
That comes like an exposure, an indecency, a slap in the face. The