The Price She Paid Part 14

"Sure you will," rejoined he. "It's your living. What else can you do?"

"That's what I must find out. Surely there's something else for a woman besides such a married life as mine. I can't and won't go back to my husband. And I can't and won't go to the house at Hanging Rock.

Those two things are settled."

"You mean that?"

"Absolutely. And I've got--less than three hundred and fifty dollars in the whole world."

Baird was silent. He was roused from his abstraction by gradual consciousness of an ironical smile on the face of the girl, for she did not look like a married woman. "You are laughing at me. Why?"

inquired he.

"I was reading your thoughts."

"You think you've frightened me?"

"Naturally. Isn't a confession such as I made enough to frighten a man? It sounded as though I were getting ready to ask alms."

"So it did," said he. "But I wasn't thinking of it in that way. You WILL be in a frightful fix pretty soon, won't you?"

"It looks that way. But you need not be uneasy."

"Oh, I want to help you. I'll do everything I can. I was trying to think of something you could make money at. I was thinking of the stage, but I suppose you'd balk at that. I'll admit it isn't the life for a lady. But the same thing's true of whatever money can be made at. If I were you, I'd go back."

"If I were myself, I'd go back," said Mildred. "But I'm not myself."

"You will be again, as soon as you face the situation."

"No," said she slowly, "no, I shall never be myself again."

"But you could have everything a woman wants. Except, of course--perhaps-- But you never struck me as being especially sentimental."

"Sentiment has nothing to do with it," rejoined she. "Do you think I could get a place on the stage?"

"Oh, you'd have to study a while, I suppose."

"But I can't afford that. If I could afford to study, I'd have my voice trained."

Baird's face lighted up with enthusiasm. "The very thing!" he cried.

"You've got a voice, a grand-opera voice. I've heard lots of people say so, and it sounded that way to me. You must cultivate your voice."

Mildred laughed. "Don't talk nonsense. Even I know that's nonsense.

The lessons alone would cost thousands of dollars. And how could I live for the four or five years?"

"You didn't let me finish," said Baird. "I was going to say that when you get to New York you must go and have your voice pa.s.sed on--by some impartial person. If that person says it's worth cultivating, why, I'm willing to back you--as a business proposition. I can afford to take the risk. So, you see, it's all perfectly simple."

He had spoken rapidly, with a covert suggestion of fear lest she would rebuke him sharply for what she might regard as an impertinent offer.

She surprised him by looking at him calmly, reflectively, and saying:

"Yes, you could afford it, couldn't you?"

"I'm sure I could. And it's the sort of thing that's done every day.

Of course, no one'd know that we had made this little business arrangement. But that's easily managed. I'd be glad if you'd let me do it, Mildred. I'd like to feel that I was of some use in the world.

And I'd like to do something for YOU."

By way of exceedingly cautious experiment he ventured to put ever so slight an accent of tenderness upon the "you." He observed her furtively but nervously. He could not get a hint of what was in her mind. She gazed out toward the rising and falling horizon line.

Presently she said:

"I'll think about it."

"You must let me do it, Mildred. It's the sensible thing--and you know me well enough to know that my friends.h.i.+p can be counted on."

"I'll think about it," was all she would concede.

They discussed the singing career all that and the succeeding days--the possibilities, the hopes, the dangers--but the hopes a great deal more than the dangers. He became more and more interested in her and in the project, as her beauty shone out with the tranquillizing sea and as her old charm of cleverness at saying things that amused him rea.s.serted itself. She, dubious and lukewarm at first, soon was trying to curb her own excited optimism; but long before they sighted Sandy Hook she was merely pretending to hang back. He felt discouraged by her parting!

"If I decide to go on, I'll write you in a few days." But he need not have felt so. She had made up her mind to accept his offer. As for the complications involved in such curiously intimate relations with a man of his temperament, habits, and inclinations, she saw them very vaguely indeed--refused to permit herself to see them any less vaguely.

Time enough to deal with complications when and as they arose; why needlessly and foolishly annoy herself and hamper herself? Said she to herself, "I must begin to be practical."

IV

AT the pier Mildred sent her mother a telegram, giving the train by which she would arrive--that and nothing more. As she descended from the parlor-car there stood Mrs. Presbury upon the platform, face wreathed in the most joyous of welcoming smiles, not a surface trace of the curiosity and alarm storming within. After they had kissed and embraced with a genuine emotion which they did not try to hide, because both suddenly became unconscious of that world whereof ordinarily they were constantly mindful--after caresses and tears Mrs. Presbury said:

"It's all very well to dress plain, when everyone knows you can afford the best. But don't you think you're overdoing it a little?"

Mildred laughed somewhat nervously. "Wait till we're safe at home,"

said she.

On the way up from the station in the carriage they chattered away in the liveliest fas.h.i.+on, to make the proper impression upon any observing Hanging-Rockers. "Luckily, Presbury's gone to town to-day," said his wife. "But really he's quite livable--hasn't gone back to his old ways. He doesn't know it, but he's rapidly growing deaf. He imagines that everyone is speaking more and more indistinctly, and he has lost interest in conversation. Then, too, he has done well in Wall Street, and that has put him in a good humor."

"He'll not be surprised to see me--alone," said Mildred.

"Wait till we're home," said her mother nervously.

At the house Mrs. Presbury carried on a foolish, false-sounding conversation for the benefit of the servants, and finally conducted Mildred to her bedroom and shut doors and drew portieres and glanced into closets before saying: "Now, what IS the matter, Millie? WHERE is your husband?"

"In Paris, I suppose," replied Mildred. "I have left him, and I shall never go back."

"Presbury said you would!" cried her mother. "But I didn't believe it.

I don't believe it. I brought you up to do your duty, and I know you will."

This was Mildred's first opportunity for frank and plain speaking; and that is highly conducive to frank and plain thinking. She now began to see clearly why she had quit the general. Said she: "Mamma, to be honest and not mince words, I've left him because there's nothing in it."

"Isn't he rich?" inquired her mother. "I've always had a kind of present--"

"Oh, he's rich, all right," interrupted the girl. "But he saw to it that I got no benefit from that."

"But you wrote me how he was buying you everything!"