Bought and Paid For; From the Play of George Broadhurst Part 20

She shook her head, irritated at his persistence at such a moment.

"I do not know," she replied coldly.

Thus far, Stafford had succeeded in keeping from his friends any intimation of his matrimonial plans, but it was hardly possible to keep the secret much longer. He and Virginia had been seen together in public places; his many visits to her house were known. Her sudden resignation from the hotel also had excited comment. People began to connect their names in a way unflattering to both. Such slanderous rumors must be stopped at any cost, thought Stafford to himself, and one evening at Delmonico's, while in a jovial, communicative mood, an opportunity came to unbosom himself freely to his friend Hadley. It was the latter's birthday and they were duly celebrating the occasion as three bottles of _Veuve Clicquot_, standing empty on the table, bore mute witness.

Stafford had been drinking freely. His face was flushed and his voice was thick, familiar symptoms when he had imbibed more wine than was good for him. The secret came out suddenly owing to a chance remark dropped by Hadley, who, sober himself and speaking of women in general, argued that girls who were compelled by necessity to earn their own living formed a cla.s.s by themselves. They could not be cla.s.sed with the domesticated girl of good family because they were open to temptations and contaminating influences which the latter escaped. Coming in close contact with the busy, feverish world, a.s.sociating on terms of daily intimacy with all kinds of men, the naturally high moral sense of the virtuous woman must necessarily become blunted in her new business surroundings.

"Once the bloom is off a woman's moral sense," he argued, "it is only a step to the undermining of her virtue. It's inevitable," he went on as he sat back in his chair idly enjoying his cigar. "The home is the young girl's only protection. Take her out of it and you expose her to the manoeuvres of the first scoundrel who comes along. If she's temperamentally cold, she'll resist the seducer successfully; but if she's weak and pleasure-loving, she'll succ.u.mb and the devil will have won over another convert. Take, for instance, those stenographers in your hotel. That Miss Blaine--she's as pretty as--"

Cras.h.!.+

There was a blow of a heavy fist falling on the table. The dishes danced, gla.s.ses fell in splinters on to the floor. Hadley, startled, turned round. Stafford, his handsome face flushed from the champagne, but now tense and angry, was looking at him fiercely:

"Take care, old chap, how you talk of Miss Blaine! She's going to be my wife!"

"Your wife!" exclaimed Hadley, removing his cigar from his mouth in sheer surprise.

"Yes, my wife," repeated Stafford grimly. "What about it?"

"Nothing--nothing at all, my dear fellow," he stammered, looking narrowly at his companion to see if he was sober, "allow me to congratulate you."

There was an awkward pause. Then suddenly Stafford broke into a loud peal of laughter. His momentary ill humor had pa.s.sed. Unable to account for the sudden change of mood, Hadley came to the conclusion that the railroad man was enjoying a joke at his expense.

"You were guying me, eh?" he laughed.

Stafford hiccoughed and shook his head. With drunken gravity he replied:

"No, siree--sure as your life--she's going to marry me."

Calling the waiter, he motioned to him to open another bottle of wine.

"We'll drink to her health, Hadley, old top. Nicest girl in the world!"

The champagne was uncorked and the railroad promoter poured out the wine with an unsteady hand. Lifting his gla.s.s he cried with mock sentimentality:

"To Virginia--my bride!"

The men touched gla.s.ses and Stafford, putting his gla.s.s to his lips, drained it at one gulp. Hadley stared at him in growing amazement. He saw his friend was drunk, but this was the first time he had suspected him of losing his senses.

"And how long has this been going on?" exclaimed his companion when he had recovered somewhat from his amazement.

Stafford laughed.

"Ever since that day you were in my rooms at the hotel," he hiccoughed. "Didn't I tell you that I contemplated matrimony? Don't you remember?"

"I didn't believe you. I thought you were joking. I never thought you were the marrying sort."

"Why not?" spluttered the railroad man in an injured tone.

Hadley looked his friend straight in the face. He was not the kind of a man to shrink from telling a friend the truth.

"Do you want the truth?" he said slowly. "Well--you're too fond of your pleasures--too selfis.h.!.+ That's frank--but it's the truth.

Selfishness keeps most men single. They're afraid to lose their liberty. When you marry you can say good-bye to your freedom."

"Who said so?" exclaimed Stafford, his face redder than ever, his lips tightening.

Hadley carelessly flecked the ash from his cigar. Calmly he replied:

"Your wife will expect it. She'll have a right to expect it."

Stafford smiled as he poured out another gla.s.s of wine. Grimly he said:

"You don't know me, Hadley, not after all these years, or you wouldn't talk like that. I'm not the man to be bullied or tyrannized or even lectured by a woman. My wife and I will understand each other perfectly. I shall make that quite plain from the outset. It's only right. I give my wife--my name, my fortune. I expect in return something from my wife. I think I've found just the right kind of girl--unspoiled by society notions, sensible on every point--"

"Even on that of letting you have your own way?" laughed Hadley.

"Precisely. She is ideal in every particular. Clever, amiable, good looking, not too strait-laced--she's just the girl I want. Don't you remember," he hiccoughed, "it was you yourself who recommended her--"

"As a secretary," said Hadley dryly.

Once more Stafford emptied his gla.s.s. He had already drunk too much, but he still had his wits about him. Laughing boisterously at his friend's sarcasm, he quickly retorted:

"As a secretary--precisely--and I've engaged her--for life."

Again filling his gla.s.s, he went rambling on:

"You and the other fellows at the club may chaff me all you choose.

I'm going to marry her and that's all there is to it. I'm my own master, do you understand? I have no family--no inquisitive, meddlesome relatives, thank G.o.d! If this marriage is going to cost me what friends I have--all right--let them keep away! Such friends are not worth having, anyway. My mind is made up and you know me. Once I make up my mind, nothing can alter it." Determinedly he added: "I'll marry her even if she refuses me--"

"Refuses you?" smiled Hadley cynically; "surely you don't antic.i.p.ate anything of that sort. Girls don't refuse millionaires nowadays."

Stafford's face clouded again. With an impatient gesture he cried:

"That's just the kind of rot you fellows talk! You don't know Virginia. She's not the sort of girl to be influenced in that way. If she were, she'd have said 'yes' at once. I understand her perfectly.

She's still uncertain if she cares enough for me. I respect her all the more for her reserve. I'd rather that than have a girl throw herself at me merely for my money." Carelessly he added: "Oh, I'm not worrying. We're getting along all right. It's only a question of time now--"

Hadley did not know what to say. Evidently any advice he could have given on the subject was now too late. All he could think of was to mutter:

"Well--congratulations--old sport!"

Stafford, no longer crossed, broke into a smile once more. Leaning tipsily over towards his friend, his face flushed, his eyes sparkling, he hiccoughed:

"Say, Hadley, she's a winner! Those big black eyes of hers are enough to drive any man crazy; and that figure! Can you blame me, Hadley? Can you blame me? Here, drink up!"

"No," said his companion, disgusted and pus.h.i.+ng his gla.s.s away. "I've had enough and so have you. It's getting late. Let's go."

Stafford made no reply, but, calling the waiter, proceeded to settle for the dinner. While he was thus engaged, Hadley watched him in irritated silence.

"_In vino veritas_!" he mused to himself. Truly the wine had spoken plainly. The cloven hoof was clearly visible. It was not so much the congenial companion, the soul-mate which Robert Stafford saw in Virginia Blaine as it was a lovely young animal for the gratification of his l.u.s.t, his appet.i.tes. What marriage, based on that idea, could be a happy one? He felt sorry for the girl. If he knew her well or cared enough, he would warn her that his friend was not the marrying kind of man. Of course, Stafford would do the honorable thing, go through a marriage ceremony, make a handsome settlement and all that sort of thing; but when it came to leading a quiet, regular, domesticated life, he simply was incapable of it--that's all. He had enjoyed liberty too long to wear the harness now. He was too much of the _viveur_, too fond of his club, his poker parties and little midnight suppers with fair ladies. Once the novelty of marriage had worn off, he would return to the old life and then there would be the devil to pay. The wife would find it out, there would be a row, with court proceedings, alimony and all the rest of it. Or perhaps she would suffer and say nothing, as so many do. Anyway, he was sorry for the girl.