"Go away," she said, shrinking from him and standing with her back against the wall. "Go away...."

"I stayed away as long as I could," he said. "Now I'm not going away--until we've had a talk."

"There's nothing for us to--say," she whispered. "You must be crazy--to come here."

He was laboring under excitement. She could see the smoldering fire in his black eyes; it was plain that he was worn, tired, a man fighting in the last ditch. His hold upon himself was not secure, but she could not be sorry for him now. The possibilities his presence suggested terrified her and excluded all other thoughts.

He stood with his burning eyes upon her face, not speaking; staring.

"Go away," she begged, but he shook his head.

"You've been cheated," he said, hoa.r.s.ely. "It doesn't matter if you gave yourself to HIM for the reason you said you did--or for his money.

You're cheated.... His kind always cheats. You're getting NOTHING....

Are you going to stand it? That's what I came to find out.... Are you going to stand it?"

She could make no reply.

"What are you going to do about it?" he demanded.

"What can I do?... It's too late."

"Look here, you married him to get something--to be able to do something.... You didn't have any other reason. You didn't love him.

... You loved ME. He's been kicked out by his family. He doesn't own anything. He's out for good, and you can't get anything or do anything.

I want to know what you're going to do about it."

"Nothing."

"Nothing?... You're not going to stick to him. You don't love him--probably you hate him by this time.... You couldn't help it."

"I married him," she said. "It isn't his fault if his family put him out.... It was MY fault. They did it because he married me.... It was I who cheated HIM--and you can see--what it's--cost him.... I've got to make it up to him--someway. I--I don't hate him.... He's been good....

Oh, he's been wonderfully good."

"Do you want to live with him?"

"No," she said. "No...."

"What about me?... I love you, don't I? Wasn't I before HIM?... Didn't you give yourself to me? What about me?..."

"That's all--over," she said. "Oh, please go away. I mustn't talk about that....I'm MARRIED...."

"Listen," he said, feverishly. "I love you. This fellow you've married doesn't know what love is.... What does he know about it? What would he do for you?..." He leaned forward, his face working, his body quivering with pa.s.sion. She let her eyes fall, unable to support his gaze, and she trembled. His old fascination was upon her; the glamour of him was drawing her. He poured out a flood of pa.s.sionate words, bared his soul to her starkly, as he talked swiftly, burningly of his love, and what his love meant to him and what it would mean to her. She closed her eyes to shut out the sight of him; she summoned all the strength of her will to preserve her from his fascination, to resist his temptation....

"I'd have left you alone," he said, "if you'd got what you paid for.

...But when you didn't--when you got nothing--there was no reason for me to stay away.... You belonged to me. You do belong to me.... Why should you stick to him? Why?"

She could not answer him. The only reason she should cling to her husband was because he WAS her husband, but she knew that would be no reason to Dulac.

"There's been a marriage ceremony," he said, scornfully. "What of it?

It isn't marriage ceremonies that unite men and women.... It's love--nothing else.... When you told me you loved me you married me more really than any minister can marry you. That was a real marriage--but you didn't think you were breaking any laws or violating any morals when you left me and married HIM. Just because we hadn't gone to a church.... You're married to ME and living with him--that's what it amounts to.... Now I'm here demanding you. I'm after my wife."

"No..." she said, weakly.

"Yes, my wife.... I want you back and I'm going to have you back. ...

With the bringing up you've had, you're not going to let this CONVENTION--this word--marriage--hold you.... You're coming with me."

The thing was possible. She saw the possibility of it, the danger that she might yield. The man's power drew her. She WANTED to go; she WANTED to believe his sophistry, but there was a stanchness of soul in her that continued to resist.

"No..." she said, again.

"You'll come," he said, "because you can't stand it. I know.... Every time he touches you you want to scream. I know. It's torture. ... He'll find out. Don't you think he'll find out you don't love him--how you feel when he comes near you? And what then?... You'll come to me willingly now--or you'll come when he pushes you out."

"He'll--not--find out."

Dulac laughed. "Anybody but a young fool would have known before this....But I don't want to wait for that. I want you now." He came toward her eagerly to take her in his arms. She could not move; her knees refused to carry her from him....Her senses swam. If he touched her it would be the end--she knew it would be the end. If he seized her in his arms she would never be able to escape. His will would master her will. Yet she could not move--she was under his spell. It was only subconsciously that she wanted to escape. It was only the true instinct in her that urged her to escape.

His arms were reaching out for her now; in an instant his hands would touch her; she would be clutched tightly to him--and she would be lost....

Her back was against the wall....In that supreme instant, the instant that stood between her and the thing that might be, the virtue in her recoiled, the stanchness a.s.serted itself, the command to choose the better from the worse course made itself heard to her will. She cried out inarticulately, thrust out with terrified arms, and pushed him from her.

"Don't touch me," she cried. "What you say is not true. I know. ...I'm his wife--and--you must go. You must--never come back. ...Bonbright is my husband--and I'll--stay with him....I'll do what I've got to do. I sha'n't listen to you. Go--please, oh, please go--NOW."

The moment had come to Dulac and he had not been swift enough to grasp it. He realized it, realized he had failed, that nothing he could do or say would avail him now....He backed toward the door, never removing his eyes from her face.

"You're MY wife," he said. "You won't come now, but you'll come.

...I'll make you come." He stopped a moment in the door, gazing at her with haggard eyes.... "And you know it," he said. Then he closed the door, and she was alone.

She sank to the floor and covered her face with her hands, not to hide her tears--for there were no tears to flow--but because she was ashamed and because she was afraid....She knew how close she had been to yielding, how narrow had been the margin of her rescue--and she was afraid of what might happen next time, of what might happen when her life with Bonbright became unbearable, as she knew it must become unbearable.

She crouched and trembled...and then she began to think. It was given her to perceive what she must do. Instead of fondling Dulac in her thoughts, she must put him out of her heart, she must not permit him in her dreams....She had promised him he should be always present in her thoughts. That promise she must break. Daily, hourly, she must steel herself against him in preparation for his next appearance, for she knew he would appear again, demanding her....It was not in the man to give her up, as it was not in him to surrender any object which he had set his soul to attain.

In spite of cults and theories and makeshifts and sophistries, she knew where her duty lay, where the safety of her soul lay--it was in fidelity to her husband. She resolved that fidelity should be his, and as she resolved it she knew that he deserved it of her. She resolved that she would eject Dulac from her life, and that, with all the strength of her will, she would try to bring herself to give that love to Bonbright which she had promised him by implication, but never by word. She did not know that love cannot be created by an effort of the will....

Before she arose from her pitiful posture she considered many plans, and discarded them all. There was no plan. It must all be left to the future. First she believed it was required that she should tell Bonbright she had married him without love, and beg of him to be patient and to wait, for she was trying to turn her love to him. But that, she saw, would not serve. He was being patient now, wonderfully, unbelievably patient. What more could she ask of him? It would only wound him, who had suffered such wounds through her. She could not do that. She could do nothing but wait and hope--and meet her problems as best she could when they arose. It was not an encouraging outlook.

Resolve as she would, she could not quiet her fears. Dulac would come again. He might find her in a weaker moment. Now, instead of one terror she harbored two....

CHAPTER XXII

Bonbright, in his business experience, had been like a man watching a play in a foreign language, from a box seat--with an interpreter to translate the dialogue. Now he found himself a member of the cast; very much a member, with abundant lines and business. In his old position as heir apparent to Bonbright Foote, Incorporated, he had been unhappy.

Time had hung heavily on his hands. He had not been allowed to partic.i.p.ate in actual affairs except as some automatic machine or rubber stamp partic.i.p.ates. There every effort of his superiors had been directed to eliminating his individuality and to molding him to the Bonbright Foote type. He had not been required to use his brains--indeed, had been forbidden to do so.

In his new employment the condition was reversed. It seemed as if everything his father had desired him to do was interdicted in Malcolm Lightener's vast organization; everything that had been taboo before was required of him now. He was asked to think; he was taught to make his individuality felt; he was encouraged to suggest and to exercise his intelligence independently. There were actually suggestion boxes in every department where the humblest laborer might deposit a slip of paper telling the boss any notion he had which he deemed of service to the enterprise. More than that--any suggestion accepted was paid for according to its value.

In Bonbright's father's plant change and invention were frowned upon.

New devices were regarded as impious. The typewriter was tolerated; the telephone was regarded with shame. The Ancestors had not made use of such things....Malcolm Lightener let no instrument for adding efficiency pa.s.s untried. It was the same in office and in shop. The plant was modern to the second--indeed, it was a stride ahead of the minute. There was a large experimental laboratory presided over by an engineer of inventive trend, whose business it was to eliminate and combine processes; to produce machines which would enable one man to perform the labor of three; to perform at one process and one handling the work that before required several processes and the pa.s.sing of the thing worked upon from hand to hand.