Bought and Paid For; From the Play of George Broadhurst Part 21

Stafford looked at him and laughed boisterously.

"What's the matter, old top? You're as serious to-day as some bewhiskered old college professor. Stop your philosophizing and let's have some more wine. I'll match you for another bottle. Come, now."

Hadley shook his head and rose.

"No more for me," he said firmly. "You don't want any, either. Let's go."

"Which direction are you going?"

"Up Fifth Avenue. Coming my way?"

"Yesh--I'm with you--only I must stop in Forty-second Street first--at a jeweller's--to get a ring I ordered." Grinning stupidly at Hadley, he went on: "Great idea--diamonds! You can do anything with a woman if you give her all the jewels she wants! See, my boy?"

A few minutes more and the two men, the taller one of whom walked somewhat unsteadily, were on Fifth Avenue, making their way towards Forty-second Street.

Ten days later there appeared among the society notes of the New York _Herald_ this paragraph:

"Robert Stafford, the well-known railroad promoter, was married yesterday at St. Patrick's Cathedral to Virginia Blaine, second daughter of the late John Blaine, once a well-known lawyer of this city. The ceremony was strictly private, the marriage being known only to a few intimate friends. The young couple sailed yesterday afternoon for Europe on their honeymoon."

CHAPTER XI

The Stafford wedding was a nine-days' sensation and then people forgot all about it. Society mothers with marriageable daughters said that it was scandalous for a man of wealth and position to throw himself away on a penniless n.o.body, and malicious tongues freely predicted that before long the railroad man would regret the foolish step he had taken.

But for the present, at least, Stafford gave no indication of regretting anything. On the contrary, he and his young wife had come back from Europe in the highest of spirits, and immediately after their return to New York the millionaire proceeded to convince his critics of their error by throwing open his new house and entertaining on a lavish scale. For some time before his marriage Stafford had realized that his old apartment, comfortable as it was for the bachelor, would be quite inadequate for a married couple; so, getting rid of his lease, he had bought further down the Avenue near Seventy-second street a fine American bas.e.m.e.nt house. It was a large modern residence, exquisitely furnished and supplied with every luxury money could buy. Virginia's private suite was particularly beautiful, being decorated in white and gold, in imitation of Queen Marie Antoinette's apartments at the Little Trianon.

To Virginia this new life of luxury and pleasure was like a chapter from the "Arabian Nights." It seemed unreal, like some fantastic dream from which, sooner or later, there must be an abrupt awakening. For years she had been so accustomed to the gnawing anxieties of poverty that this sudden superfluity of wealth fairly stunned and overwhelmed her. Stafford, apparently more infatuated every day, took the keenest delight in pleasing her. Everything that he thought would add to her happiness was done. He showered her with costly presents, giving her wonderful diamond tiaras, superb pearl necklaces and other gems until her jewels were soon the talk of New York. She had _carte blanche_ at Fifth Avenue dressmakers and milliners; she had her French maid, her hairdresser, her automobile and her box at the opera.

He forced open for her the doors of society and, once inside the exclusive circle, it was not long before Virginia made friends on her own account. People had expected to see a bold, coa.r.s.e adventuress; instead, they were charmed by a modest, refined young woman who, intellectually at least, was their superior. Everybody received her with open arms. The men cla.s.sed her as pretty and _chic_; the women declared she dressed divinely and gave exquisite dinners. Before long, society arrived at the conclusion that Robert Stafford had not made such a mess of his matrimonial venture, after all.

The months went by so gayly and so quickly that it was the greatest surprise to Virginia when one day she realized that she would soon celebrate the second anniversary of her wedding. She was so taken up with one fas.h.i.+onable function after another that she had no time to think. Sometimes in the midst of her social activities, she stopped to ask herself if she was really happy, if this nerve-racking existence of idleness and pleasure--with its bridge parties, its dinners, its opera and theatre-going--was the kind of life she had dreamed of in her girlhood days. Sometimes she felt a longing, a yearning for a more useful existence, something n.o.bler, higher.

Then, all at once, there came a change. It seemed to her that Robert's manner toward her was not the same. For no apparent cause, he gradually grew more cold and distant. At first she thought she herself might be to blame and she carefully watched her own actions and att.i.tude to see if she was neglectful in any way of wifely duties and devotion. But she had nothing with which to reproach herself. She managed his household and entertained his friends. When they were alone she played and sang for him. But, for some reason that she could not explain, she seemed gradually to lose the power of holding him at home. Under the pretext of urgent business, he stayed away more and more. Usually he telephoned at the last minute, saying he had a business dinner to go to or a directors' meeting to attend. It was seldom that she could count on his company, and it made her life necessarily seem very lonely. It was nice to be rich, but often she wished that they might be poorer, that Robert were less successful so that their life might be more domesticated, more intimate. She felt that even after two years of marriage she did not know her husband any better than when she first met him. There seemed to be between them an indefinable yet very real barrier which, for some unknown reason, she was impotent to tear down. Sometimes, too, she resented him making so little of her. Instead of taking her into his confidence in his business matters, he treated her as a child, whose opinion on serious things was valueless. Instead of coming to her as a comrade to ask advice, he preferred to play the ardent lover, as if that were all he expected of her. Her womanhood rebelled, but she said nothing. There were times, too, when he returned home very late, exhilarated by too much wine, and on such occasions his boisterous, pa.s.sionate kisses nauseated her. Often she found herself longing for demonstrations of a more sincere and honest affection, but she always excused him on the ground that it was the fault of his temperament.

Among all her husband's friends Fred Hadley was the one whose society she preferred. She found him sympathetic, kind and yet always respectful. He being very fond of music and having considerable literary taste, they soon found that they had many interests in common. Sometimes he would join them in their box at the opera, or when Stafford brought him home to dinner they sat and chatted on all kinds of congenial topics while the husband, wholly absorbed in the business details of a busy day, paid only scant attention to the conversation.

One evening the subject of divorce happened to come up. They were discussing the notorious case of a well-known woman in society who had submitted to all kinds of cruelties and indignities on the part of her husband rather than shame him by bringing the matter into court.

Stafford, for once becoming interested in the argument, declared decisively that the woman was right, that, having entered into a matrimonial compact, she was in honor bound to conceal from prying outsiders any domestic differences they might have. Virginia promptly differed with him and proceeded to give her reasons. Stafford was no match for her when it came to sociology and he could only grunt disapproval as she went on warmly to defend womankind from the ignominy of a degrading marriage, while Hadley, keenly interested, smoked his cigar and listened.

"A woman who will suffer in silence while her brutal husband stands over her with a whip is a disgrace to her s.e.x," she exclaimed hotly.

"She is no better than a shackled slave; her position in the man's house is that of a concubine."

"What shall she do?" cried Stafford with a shrug of his shoulders and a cynical laugh.

"Get a divorce," retorted Virginia.

"Divorce!" echoed the railroad man mockingly. "The world is full of divorcees. Everyone looks down on them. They have a bad name. What does she gain by that?"

"Her own self-respect if not that of the world. Divorce is the only weapon a defenceless woman has."

Stafford, badly beaten, relapsed into a sulky silence, while Hadley nodded approval.

"You are quite right, Mrs. Stafford," he said; "the fear of divorce and its attendant publicity makes many a husband behave himself."

Following up her advantage, Virginia picked up a newspaper lying on a table close by.

"Here," she said, "is the opinion of a woman on this very question--a woman evidently who has herself suffered. She says:

"'How many beings live together for long years strangers in mind and body! How many are the slaves of marriage whose relations are hideous with mutual hate! Why, in the name of a religious principle, should one make eternal the h.e.l.l whose torments are as varied as they are overwhelming? Why should not reason and the right of the individual correct the mistakes of chance, false calculations, and hopes deceived? Why should a woman who does not find in her husband the necessary moral support suffer the tortures of a long agony in which she is defenceless, of a perpetual struggle in which she is miserably conquered; and, on the other hand, why should the husband who does not find in his wife the hoped-for companion or the desired slave, find the road to happiness forever closed to him? Before divorce was established, men and women who lived together in misunderstanding suffered an agony worse than that of the condemned to death, for nothing can be compared to the torture of being tied, body and soul, in hatred or scorn, or even indifference.'"

Hadley nodded approvingly.

"I think she puts the case pretty well," he remarked. "It's a strong argument in favor of the legal separation."

"I beg to differ," said Stafford dryly. Rising with a yawn, he went on: "Half the marital troubles one hears about are the fault of the wife. She is often too exacting, too fond of meddling in her husband's affairs. A man who respects himself bends to no one--not even to his wife." With another yawn he added: "Will you two excuse me for a few minutes? I have a letter to write."

Without waiting for an answer, he turned on his heel and walked into the library, closing the door behind him. Hadley puffed away at his cigar in silence, while Virginia gazed thoughtfully into the fire.

Presently Hadley said:

"Bob's in an argumentative mood to-night."

Virginia sighed as she replied:

"Yes--he has not much patience. He always takes the stand that man is the master, that women should have no will of their own."

Hadley shook his head as he replied:

"Old-fas.h.i.+oned notion that. The quicker he gets rid of it the better."

Virginia looked at him without speaking. There was an inquiring, wistful expression in her face, as if she longed to unbosom herself to someone, and yet had no one close enough, intimate enough in whom she could confide. Presently she said:

"Mr. Hadley, you've known my husband a number of years. Was he always as he is now?"

"In what way do you mean?"

"Was he always as dictatorial, as self-centred and self-willed?"

Hadley laughed.

"Yes, Bob was always inclined that way, and it seems to have grown on him as he has grown older."

There was still another question hovering on the young wife's lips.

Dare she ask it? Why not? This friend was so loyal, so considerate, that he would understand. If it worried her at all, it was because her happiness, the future of her unborn children, if she had any, might be at stake. At last, with an effort, she summoned up courage and ventured to give expression to what was on her mind.

"Mr. Hadley, there's something else. I've intended to ask you for a long time--" Hesitating, she said: "I've quite forgotten what it was--"