Complete weird tales of.., p.705
Complete Weird Tales of Robert W Chambers, page 705
* * *
He came next day at five. The day after that he arrived at the same hour, bringing with him her ring; and, as he slipped it over her finger, for the first time her self-control slipped, too, and she bent swiftly and kissed the jewel that he was holding.
Then, flushed and abashed, she shrank away, an exquisite picture of confusion, and stood turning and turning the ring around, her head obstinately lowered, absolutely unresponsive again to his arm around her and his cheek resting close against hers.
“What a beauty of a ring, Jim!” she managed to say at last. “No other engagement ring ever existed half as lovely and splendid as my betrothal ring. I am sorry for all the empresses and queens and princesses who can never hope to possess a ring to equal the ring of Jacqueline Nevers, dealer in antiquities.”
“Nor can they hope to possess such a hand to adorn it,” he said, “ — the most beautiful, the purest, whitest, softest, most innocent hand in the world! The magic hand of Jacqueline!”
“Do you like it?” she asked, shyly conscious of its beauty.
“It is matchless, darling. Let empresses shriek with envy.”
“I’m listening very intently, but I don’t hear them. Jim. Also, I’ve seen a shop-girl with far lovelier hands. But please go on thinking so and hearing crowned heads shriek. I rather like your imagination.”
He laughed from sheer happiness:
“I’ve got something to whisper to you. Shall I?”
“What?”
“Shall I whisper it?”
She inclined her small head daintily, then:
“Oh!” she exclaimed, startled and blushing to the tips of her ears.
“Will you be ready?”
“I — yes. Yes — I’ll be ready — —”
“Does it make you happy?”
“I can’t realise — I didn’t know it was to be so soon — so immediate — —”
“We’ll go to Silverwood. We can catch the evening express — —”
“Dearest!”
“You can go away with me for one week, can’t you?”
“I can’t go now!” she faltered.
“For how long can you go, Jacqueline?”
“I — I’ve got to be back on Tuesday morning.”
“Tuesday!”
“Isn’t it dreadful, Jim. But I can’t avoid it if we are to be married on Monday next. I must deal honourably by my clients who trust me. I warned you that our wedding trip would have to be postponed if you married me this way — didn’t I, dear?”
“Yes.”
She stood looking at him timidly, almost fearfully, as he took two or three quick, nervous steps across the floor, turned and came back to her.
“All right,” he said. “Our wedding trip will have to wait, then; but our wedding won’t. We’ll be married Monday, go to Silverwood, and come back Tuesday — if it’s a matter of honour. I never again mean to interfere with your life’s business, Jacqueline. You know what is best; you are free and entitled to the right of decision.”
“Yes. But because I must decide about things that concern myself alone, you don’t think I adore you any the less, do you, Jim?”
“Nor do I love you the less, Jacqueline, because I can decide nothing for you, do nothing for you.”
“Jim! You can decide everything for me — do everything! And you have done everything for me — by giving me my freedom to decide for myself!”
“I gave it to you, Jacqueline?”
“Did you think I would have taken it if you had refused it?”
“But you said your happiness depended on it.”
“Which is why you gave it to me, isn’t it?” she asked seriously.
He laughed. “You wonderful girl, to make me believe that any generosity of mine is responsible for your freedom!”
“But it is! Otherwise, I would have obeyed you and been disgraced in my own estimation.”
“Do you mean that mine is to be the final decision always?”
“Why, of course, Jim.”
He laughed again. “Empty authority, dear — a shadowy symbol of traditional but obsolete prerogative.”
“You are wrong. Your decision is final. But — as I know it will always be for my happiness, I can always appeal from your prejudice to your intelligence,” she added naïvely. And for a moment was surprised at his unrestrained laughter.
“What does it matter?” she admitted, laughing, too. “Between you and me the right thing always will be done sooner or later.”
His laughter died out; he said soberly: “Always, God willing. It may be a little hard for me to learn — as it’s hard, now, for example, to say good-bye.”
“Jim!”
“You know I must, darling.”
“But I don’t mind sitting up a few minutes later to-night — —”
“I know you don’t. But here’s where I exercise my harmlessly arbitrary authority for your happiness and for the sake of your good digestion.”
“What a brute you are!”
“I know it. Back to your desk, darling! And go to bed early.”
“I wanted you to stay — —”
“Ha! So you begin to feel the tyranny of man! I’m going! I’ve got a job, too, if you want to know.”
“What!”
“Certainly! How long did you suppose I could stand it to see you at that desk and then go and sit in a silly club?”
“What do you mean, darling?” she asked, radiant.
“I mean that Jack Cairns, who is a broker, has offered me a job at a small but perfectly proper salary, with the usual commission on all business I bring in to the office. And I’ve taken it!”
“But, dear — —”
“Oh, Vail can run my farm without any advice from me. I’m going to give him more authority and hold him responsible. If the place can pay for itself and let us keep the armour and jades, that’s all I ask of it. But I am asking more of myself — since I have begun to really know you. And I’m going to work for our bread and butter, and earn enough to support us both and lay something aside. You know we’ve got to think of that, because — —” He looked very serious, hesitated, bent and whispered something that sent the bright colour flying in her cheeks; then he caught her hand and kissed the ring-finger.
“Good-bye,” she murmured, clinging for an instant to his hand.
The next moment he was gone; and she stood alone for a while by her desk, his ring resting against her lips, her eyes closed.
* * *
Sunday she spent with him. They went together to St. John’s Cathedral in the morning — the first time he had been inside a church in years. And he was in considerable awe of the place and of her until they finally emerged into the sunshine of Morningside Park.
Under a magnificent and cloudless sky, they walked together, silent or loquacious by turns, bold and shy, confident and timid. And she was a little surprised to find that, in the imminence of marriage, her trepidation was composure itself compared to the anxiety which seemed to assail him. All he had thought of was the license and the clergyman; and they had attended to those matters together. But she had wished him to have Jack Cairns present, and had told him that she desired to ask some friend of her girlhood to be her bridesmaid.
“Have you done so?” he inquired, as they descended the heights of Morningside, the beautiful weather tempting them to a long homeward stroll through Central Park.
“Yes, Jim, I must tell you about her. She, like myself, is not a girl that men of your sort might expect to meet — —”
“The loss is ours, Jacqueline.”
“That is very sweet of you. Only I had better tell you about Cynthia Lessler — —”
“Who?” he asked, astonished.
“Cynthia Lessler, my girlhood friend.”
“She is an actress, isn’t she?”
“Yes. Her home life was very unhappy. But I think she has much talent, too.”
“She has.”
“I am glad you think so. Anyway, she is my oldest friend, and I have asked her to be my bridesmaid to-morrow.”
He continued silent beside her so long that she said timidly:
“Do you mind, Jim?”
“I was only thinking — how it might look in the papers — and there are other girls you already know whose names would mean a lot — —”
“Yes, I know. But I don’t want to pretend to be what I am not, even in the papers. I suppose I do need all the social corroboration I can have. I know what you mean, dear. But there were reasons. I thought it all over. Cynthia is an old friend, not very happy, not the fortunate and blessed girl that your love is making of me. But she is good and sweet and loyal to me, and I can’t abandon old friends, especially one who is not very fortunate — and I — I thought perhaps it might help her a little — in various ways — to be my bridesmaid.”
“That is like you,” he said, reddening. “You never say or do anything but there lies in it some primary lesson in decency to me.”
“You goose! Isn’t it natural for a girl to wish for her oldest friend at such a time? That’s really all there is to the matter. And I do hope you will like Cynthia.”
He nodded, preoccupied. After a few moments he said:
“Did you know that Jack Cairns had met her?”
“Yes.”
“Oh!” His troubled eyes sought hers, then shifted.
“That was another reason I wish to ask her,” she said in a low voice.
“What reason?”
“Because Mr. Cairns knew her only as a very young, very lonely, very unhappy girl, inexperienced, friendless, poor, almost shelterless; and engaged in a profession upon which it is almost traditional for men to prey. And I wish him to know her again as a girl who is slowly advancing in an honest profession — as a modest, sweet, self-respecting woman — and as my friend.”
“And mine,” he said.
“You — darling!” she whispered.
* * *
CHAPTER XIII
THEY WERE MARRIED in the morning at St. George’s in Stuyvesant Square.
Gay little flurries of snow, like wind-blown petals from an apple bough, were turning golden in the warm outbreak of brilliant sunshine; and there was blue sky overhead and shining wet pavements under foot as Jacqueline and Desboro came out of the shadows of the old-time church into the fresh splendour of the early morning.
The solemn beauty of the service still possessed and enthralled them. Except for a low word or two, they were inclined to silence.
But the mating sparrows were not; everywhere the little things, brown wings a-quiver, chattered and chirped in the throes of courtship; now and then, from some high façade rang out the clear, sweet whistle of a starling; and along the warm, wet streets ragged children were selling violets and narcissus, and yellow tulips tinted as delicately as the pale spring sunshine.
A ragged little girl came to stare at Jacqueline, the last unsold bunch of wilted violets lying on her tray; and Jacqueline laid the cluster over the prayer-book which she was carrying, while Desboro slipped a golden coin into the child’s soiled hand.
Down the street his chauffeur was cranking the car; and while they waited for it to draw up along the curb, Jacqueline separated a few violets from the faintly fragrant cluster and placed them between the leaves of her prayer-book.
After a few moments he said, under his breath:
“Do you realise that we are married, Jacqueline?”
“No. Do you?”
“I’m trying to comprehend it, but I can’t seem to. How soft the breeze blows! It is already spring in Stuyvesant Square.”
“The Square is lovely! They will be setting out hyacinths soon, I think.” She shivered. “It’s strange,” she said, “but I feel rather cold. Am I horridly pale, Jim?”
“You are a trifle colourless — but even prettier than I ever saw you,” he whispered, turning up the collar of her fur coat around her throat. “You haven’t taken cold, have you?”
“No; it is — natural — I suppose. Miracles frighten one at first.”
Their eyes met; she tried to smile. After a moment he said nervously:
“I sent out the announcements. The evening papers will have them.”
“I want to see them, Jim.”
“You shall. I have ordered all this evening’s and to-morrow morning’s papers. They will be sent to Silverwood.”
The car rolled up along the curb and stopped.
“Can’t I take you to your office?” he whispered.
“No, dear.”
She laid one slim hand on his arm and stood for a moment looking at him.
“How pale you are!” he said again, under his breath.
“Brides are apt to be. It’s only a swift and confused dream to me yet — all that has happened to us to-day; and even this sunshine seems unreal — like the first day of spring in paradise!”
She bent her proud little head and stood in silence as though unseen hands still hovered above her, and unseen lips were still pronouncing her his wife. Then, lifting her eyes, winningly and divinely beautiful, she looked again on this man whom the world was to call her husband.
“Will you be ready at five?” he whispered.
“Yes.”
They lingered a moment longer; he said:
“I don’t know how I am going to endure life without you until five o’clock.”
She said seriously: “I can’t bear to leave you, Jim. But you know you have almost as many things to do as I have.”
“As though a man could attend to things on his wedding day!”
“This girl has to. I don’t know how I am ever going to go through the last odds and ends of business — but it’s got to be managed somehow. Do you really think we had better go up to Silverwood in the car? Won’t this snow make the roads bad? It may not have melted in the country.”
“Oh, it’s all right! And I’ll have you to myself in the car — —”
“Suppose we are ditched?” She shivered again, then forced a little laugh. “Do you know, it doesn’t seem possible to me that I am going to be your wife to-morrow, too, and the next day, and the next, and always, year after year. Somehow, it seems as though our dream were already ending — that I shall not see you at five o’clock — that it is all unreal — —”
The smile faded, and into her blue eyes came something resembling fear — gone instantly — but the hint of it had been there, whatever it was; and the ghost of it still lingered in her white, flower-like face.
She whispered, forcing the smile again: “Happiness sometimes frightens; and it is making me a little afraid, I think. Come for me at five, Jim, and try to make me comprehend that nothing in the world can ever harm us. Tell your man where to take me — but only to the corner of my street, please.”
He opened the limousine door; she stepped in, and he wrapped the robe around her. A cloud over the sun had turned the world grey for a moment. Again she seemed to feel the sudden chill in the air, and tried to shake it off.
“Look at Mr. Cairns and Cynthia,” she whispered, leaning forward from her seat and looking toward the church.
He turned. Cairns and Miss Lessler had emerged from the portico and were lingering there in earnest consultation, quite oblivious of them.
“Do you like her, Jim?” she asked.
He smiled.
“I didn’t notice her very much — or Jack either. A man isn’t likely to notice anybody at such a time — except the girl he is marrying — —”
“Look at her now. Don’t you think her expression is very sweet?”
“It’s all right. Dear, do you suppose I can fix my attention on — —”
“You absurd boy! Are you really as much in love with me as that? Please be nice to her. Would you mind going back and speaking to her when I drive away?”
“All right,” he said.
Their glances lingered for a moment more; then he drew a quick, sharp breath, closed the limousine door, and spoke briefly to the chauffeur.
As long as the car remained in sight across the square, he watched it; then, when it had disappeared, he turned toward the church. But Cairns and Cynthia were already far down the street, walking side by side, very leisurely, apparently absorbed in conversation. They must have seen him. Perhaps they had something more interesting to say to each other than to him.
He followed them irresolutely for a few steps, then, as the idea persisted that they might not desire his company, he turned and started west across the sunny, wet pavement.
* * *
It was quite true that Cairns and Cynthia had seen him; also it was a fact that neither had particularly wanted him to join them at that exact moment.
Meeting at St. George’s for the first time in two years, and although prepared for the encounter, these two, who had once known each other so well, experienced a slight shock when they met. The momentary contact of her outstretched hand and his hand left them both very silent; even the formal commonplaces had failed them after the first swift, curious glance had been exchanged.
Cairns noticed that she had grown taller and slenderer. And though there seemed to be no more of maturity to her than to the young girl he had once known, her poise and self-control were now in marked contrast to the impulsive and slightly nervous Cynthia he had found so amusing in callower days.
Once or twice during the ceremony he had ventured to glance sideways at her. In the golden half-light of the altar there seemed to be an unfamiliar dignity and sweetness about the girl that became her. And in the delicate oval of her face he thought he discerned those finer, nobler contours made by endurance, by self-denial, and by sorrow.
Later, when he saw her kiss Jacqueline, something in the sweet sincerity of the salute suddenly set a hidden chord vibrating within him; and, to his surprise, he found speech difficult for a moment, checked by emotions for which there seemed no reason.
