_ CHAPTER XIII
For a minute or two Laura remained motionless. Sinking inertly onto a chair after the door closed, she sat still, engrossed in deep thought.
This, then, was the end of her good resolutions and her hopes of regeneration! What would
he say? Would he care and grieve after her, or would he treat it as a jest, an idle romance with which they had amused themselves those happy midsummer days in Denver? Yes--it was a dream--nothing more. Life was too hard, too brutal for such ideal longings to be possible of realization. It was just as well that she had come to her senses before it was too late.
Rising with a sigh, she crossed to the other side of the room, and halting at the wardrobe, stood contemplating John's portrait which was tacked up there. Then calmly, deliberately, she loosened the nails with a pair of scissors and took the picture down. Proceeding to the dresser, she picked up the small picture in the frame; then, kneeling on the mattress, she pulled down the large picture of him that was over the bed, and placed all three portraits under a pillow. Barely was this done, when there was a sharp rap at the door.
"Come in," she called out.
The door opened, and Brockton entered, well groomed and immaculately dressed. For a moment he stood irresolute on the threshold, just looking at her. There was obvious embarrassment on the part of each of them. Laura went toward him, with hand extended.
"Hello, Laura," he said pleasantly.
"I'm--I'm glad to see you, Will."
"Thank you."
"Won't you sit down?" she said timidly.
"Thank you again," he smiled.
Quickly regaining his ease of manner, he put his hat and cane on the table, took off his overcoat, which he placed on the back of the armchair, and sat down.
"It's rather cold, isn't it?" said Laura, taking a seat opposite him.
"Just a bit sharp."
"You came with Elfie in the car?"
"She picked me up on Broadway; we lunched together."
"By appointment?" she asked quickly.
"I'd asked her," he answered dryly.
"Well?" she demanded.
"Well, Laura," he replied calmly.
"She told you?"
He shrugged his shoulders carelessly.
"Not a great deal. What do you want to tell me?"
Avoiding his direct glance, she said very simply:
"Will, I'm ready to come back."
With an effort, the broker concealed his sense of triumph and satisfaction. Rising quickly, he went up to her. Taking her hand, he said tenderly:
"I'm mighty glad of that, Laura. I've missed you like the very devil."
Visibly embarrassed, she asked timidly:
"Do we--do we have to talk it over much?"
"Not at all unless you want to. I understand--in fact, I always have."
"Yes," she said wearily, "I guess you always did. I didn't."
"It will be just the same as it was before, you know."
"Yes--of course----"
"I didn't think it was possible for me to miss anyone the way I have you. I've been lonely."
She smiled faintly:
"It's nice in you to say that."
Drawing back a few steps he cast a hurried glance around the room.
"You'll have to move out of here right away. This place is enough to give one the colly-wabbles. If you'll be ready to-morrow, I'll send my man over to help you take care of the luggage."
"To-morrow will be all right, thank you," she replied.
He put his hand in his pocket and took out a big roll of money. Peeling off five yellow-backed bills and placing them on the table, he said:
"And you'll need some money in the meantime. I'll leave this here."
"You seem to have come prepared," she smiled. "Did Elfie and you plan all this out?"
He chuckled as he replied:
"Not planned--just hoped. I think you'd better go to some nice hotel now. Later we can arrange."
She offered no objection, accepting everything suggested as a matter of course. Having sold herself, as it were, to the highest bidder, it was not her place to raise any further obstacles. Dispassionately, therefore, she said:
"Will, we'll always be frank. I said I was ready to go. It's up to you--when and where."
He smiled, surprised to find her so tractable.
"The hotel scheme is the best, but, Laura----"
"Yes?"
He looked at her keenly, trying to penetrate beneath the surface of her almost unnatural calm. He did not wish to be fooled again.
"You're quite sure this is in earnest?" he demanded. "You don't want to change? You've time enough now."
She shook her head.
"I've made up my mind. It's final," she said positively.
"If you want to work," he went on, "Burgess has a nice part for you. I'll telephone and arrange if you say so."
"Please do. Say I'll see him in the morning."
The broker rose and paced nervously up and down the room. So far so good, but he had not yet finished. There was still something unpleasant that must be attended to before all was settled, and now was the proper and only time to do it. Turning abruptly, he said:
"Laura, you remember when we were in Denver----"
Starting forward, the girl raised one hand entreatingly. For the moment her studied quiet was laid aside.
"Please, please don't speak of that!" she cried.
Brockton stood still, looking her squarely in the eyes. His manner was extremely serious and determined.
"I'm sorry," he said, "but I've got to." Slowly and deliberately he went on: "Last summer, in Denver, I told John Madison that if this time ever came--when you would return to me of your own free will--I'd have you write him the truth. Before we go any further, I'd like you to do that--now."
Even under her cosmetics, the girl grew a shade paler. In a trembling, uncertain voice, she faltered:
"Say good-by?"
"Just that," said Brockton firmly.
She looked distressed. The muscles about the corners of her mouth worked convulsively.
"I wouldn't know how to begin. It will hurt him terribly."
"It will be worse if you don't," insisted the broker. "He'll like you the better for telling him. It would be honest, and that is what he expects."
She knew he was right, and that there was no way out of it, yet this was the hardest ordeal of all. In her heart she knew she was lying--lying to Brockton, lying to John, lying to herself. But she must lie, for she had not the strength to resist. The world was too hard, the suffering too great. What could she tell John--that she had ceased to love him and gone back to her old life? How he would despise her! Yet it must be----. Her eyes blinded with scalding tears, she asked:
"Must I write--now?"
"I think you should," he replied kindly but firmly.
Dropping onto a seat near the table, she took up a pen.
"How shall I begin?" she asked tremulously.
He looked at her in surprise.
"Do you mean that you don't know what to say?"
She nodded and turned away her head, not daring to let him see her white, tear-stained face. He made a step forward.
"Then I'll dictate a letter," he said.
"That's right," she half-sobbed. "I'll do just as you say. You're the one to tell me now----"
"Address it the way you want to," he said. "I'm going to be pretty brutal. In the long run, I think that is best, don't you?"
"It's up to you," she said quietly.
"Ready?"
"Begin."
Looking-over her shoulder, while she put pen to paper, he began to dictate:
"This is the last letter you will ever receive from me. All is over between us. I need not enter into explanations. I have tried and I have failed. Do not think badly of me. It was beyond my strength. Good-by. I shall not tell you where I've gone, but remind you of what Brockton told you the last time he saw you. He is here now, dictating this letter. What I am doing is voluntary--my own suggestion. Don't grieve. Be happy and successful. I do not love you----"
When she came to the last sentence, she stopped, laid her pen down, and looked up at the broker.
"Will--please--" she protested.
But he insisted.
"It has got to go just that way," he said determinedly. "'I do not love you.' Sign it 'Laura.' Fold it, put it in an envelope--seal it--address it. Shall I mail it?"
She hesitated, and then stammered:
"No. If you don't mind, I'd sooner mail it myself. It's a sort of a last--last message, you know. I'd like to send it myself."
Brockton went to the armchair, took his coat, and put it on.
"All right," he said cheerily. "You're a little upset now, and I'm going. We are all to dine together to-night at seven-thirty. There'll be a party. Of course you'll come."
"I don't think I can," she answered, with some embarrassment. "You see----"
He understood. Nodding and pointing to the money he had left on the table, he said:
"I know. I guess there's enough there for your immediate needs. Later you can straighten things up. Shall I send the car?"
"Yes, please."
He drew nearer and bent over her, as if about to caress her. Instinctively she shrank from his embrace. What at any other time would have appeared perfectly natural was now repugnant to her. It seemed indecent when the ink on her letter to John Madison was not yet dry.
"Please don't," she said. "Remember, we don't dine until seven-thirty."
"All right," he laughed, as he took his hat and cane and went out of the door.
For a few minutes after his departure Laura sat in meditative silence. There was no drawing back now. She had accepted this man's money. She must go on to the end, no matter where it led her. She had sold herself; henceforth she was this man's slave and chattel. Suddenly she was seized with a feeling of disgust. She loathed herself for her weakness, her lack of stamina, her cowardice. She did not deserve that a decent man should love or respect her. Angry at herself, angry with the world, she rose, and going to the dresser, got the alcohol lamp and placed it on the table. While she was lighting it there came a knock at the door.
"Come in," she called out.
Annie entered.
"Is that you, Annie?"
"Yassum," said the negress.
Laura took the bank notes which Brockton had left and threw them on the table. With affected carelessness, she said:
"Mrs. Farley wants her rent. There is some money. Take it to her."
Approaching the table, the negress' eyes nearly started out of her head when she caught sight of the bank notes. Bewildered, she exclaimed:
"Dey ain't nothin' heah, Miss Laura, but five great big one hundred dollah bills!"
"Take two," said Laura. "And look in that upper drawer. You'll find some pawn-tickets there."
"Yassum," said the negress, obeying instructions. "Dat's real money--dem's yellow backs, sure!"
"Take the two top ones," continued Laura, "and go get my lace gown and one of the hats. The ticket is for a hundred and ten dollars. Keep ten for yourself, and hurry."
Annie gasped from sheer excitement.
"Ten for myself?" she grinned. "I never seen so much money. Yassum, Miss Laura, yassum." As she went toward the door she turned round, and said: "Ah'm so mighty glad yo' out all yo' trouble, Miss Laura. I says to Mis' Farley, now----"
Laura cut her off short.
"Don't--don't!" she exclaimed sharply. "Go do as I tell you, and mind your business."
Annie turned sullenly and walked toward the door. At that moment Laura noticed the letter which still lay on the table. She called the maid back:
"Wait a minute. I want you to mail a letter."
Picking up the letter, she held it out to the negress, who put out her hand to receive it. Laura still hesitated. Looking at the envelope long and wistfully, her nerve failed her. Dismissing the girl with a gesture, she said:
"Never mind. I'll mail it myself."
The negress went out. When the door shut behind her, Laura went quickly to the table and held the letter over the flame of the alcohol lamp. The envelope speedily ignited. As it burned she held it for a moment in her fingers, and when half-consumed, threw it into a waste-jar. Sitting on the side of the bed, she watched the letter burn, and when the last tiny flame flickered out, she sank down on the bed, her head supported on her elbows, her chin resting in her hands, thinking, thinking. _