Bought and Paid For; From the Play of George Broadhurst Part 42

She made no answer and he went on:

"One thing is certain. You can't think very much of me, or you couldn't even think of leaving me like this--"

"It is because I do love you," she cried hysterically, "that I must leave you. You don't understand that now but, oh! how I hope that some day you will. Good-bye!"

She went toward the dressing table as if to get her hat and coat. He halted her with a gesture.

"Just a minute, dear."

She stopped.

"Well?"

Approaching her, he said kindly:

"You are doing a very foolish thing."

She shook her head.

"I'm doing the right thing."

"I don't think so. Aside from marrying her husband, leaving him is the most serious step a woman can take. Serious steps should be given great consideration."

"I have considered this," she replied gravely.

"But not enough."

"Oh, yes, I have."

"In the first place you know that since you came into my life I haven't given any other woman even a thought. You know that, don't you?"

"Yes."

"In the next place you are leaving me! I am not leaving you. My home is still open to you and I want you for my wife--"

He stopped and looked at her as if expecting her to say something, but she was silent and he went on:

"Of course under any circ.u.mstances I shall see you are well provided for."

Virginia made a gesture of dissent.

"Oh, no!" she cried.

"You mean that you wouldn't take-any allowance?"

"Yes! I came to you with nothing--that is what I'll take away."

"Now do be a sensible little woman," he said coaxingly. "If you won't take anything from me, where are you to go, what are you to do?"

"You seem to forget that I managed to live before I met you!"

"You would try to do as you did then?"

"Why not?"

"Because it's impossible--absolutely impossible."

"I don't think so."

He made an impatient gesture as if any such action were unthinkable.

"Come now, dearie, get all such foolish thoughts out of your head. The idea is absurd, ridiculous."

"Why?" she demanded.

"Among other reasons is the fact that I wouldn't let you."

"How can you prevent me? You can't keep me a prisoner here and you can't force me to take your money unless I wish to take it. You see?"

"The idea is preposterous, I tell you. You couldn't voluntarily go back and live as you did before. It isn't in human nature."

"I can try."

"And if you do, you'll fail. And I'll tell you why! When we met you were earning ten or twelve dollars a week."

"Ten," she corrected.

"On that you had to live and provide yourself with everything. You had a little room in Harlem and used to hang on to a strap every morning and night when you went to and from your work."

"Yes."

"And now you've had the touring car in the summer and the limousine in the winter; when the weather was cold you had your furs, when it was warm you had the yacht! Since we were married you have had every luxury that money could give and luxury gets in the blood, my dear.

Luxury gets in the blood! It's got into mine! Could I, of my own free will, go back and live as I used to live and be satisfied? Certainly not! No more can you!"

"I can try," she said doggedly.

"Don't try," he pleaded. "Please don't! You're a dear, fine, sensible, high-minded little woman, but you weren't made to fight against such odds, and if you try it you'll fail. It's inevitable."

"Just the same I'm going to try it."

Her words were final. There was no recalling them. She was determined upon a separation. So be it, he thought to himself. He was as proud, as obstinate as she was. If she insisted on leaving him, he would not argue with her any longer. Sternly he said:

"Then mark my words--you'll either send for me or you'll come back to me."

"I won't, I tell you!" she retorted with spirit.

"That's what you think now."

"And it's what I shall always think!" she cried. "Send for you after last night? Come back to you and these same conditions? Never! Never!"