Sylvia's Marriage Part 20

Yet it was true in a way. When the infant was brought in to be nursed again, how she clung to it, a very picture of the sheltering and protecting instinct of motherhood! She knew the worst now--her mind was free, and she could partake of what happiness was allowed her. The child was hers to love and care for, and she would find ways to atone to it for the harshness of fate.

So little by little we got our existence upon a working basis. We lived a peaceful, routine life, to the music of cocoanut-palms rustling in the warm breezes which blew incessantly off the Mexican Gulf. Aunt Varina had, for the time, her undisputed way with the family; her niece reclined upon the veranda in true Southern lady fas.h.i.+on, and was read aloud to from books of indisputable respectability. I remember Aunt Varina selected the "Idylls of the King," and they two were in a mood to shed tears over these solemn, sorrowful tales. So it came that the little one got her name, after a pale and unhappy heroine.

I remember the long discussions of this point, the family-lore which Aunt Varina brought forth. It did not seem to her quite the thing to call a blind child after a member of one's family. Something strange, romantic, wistful--yes, Elaine was the name! Mrs. Tuis, it transpired, had already baptised the infant, in the midst of the agonies and alarms of its illness. She had called it "Sylvia," and now she was tremulously uncertain whether this counted--whether perhaps the higher powers might object to having to alter their records. But in the end a clergyman came out from Key West and heard Aunt Varina's confession, and gravely concluded that the error might be corrected by a formal ceremony. How strange it all seemed to me--being carried back two or three hundred years in the world's history! But I gave no sign of what was going on in my rebellious mind.

22. Dr. Overton on his return to New York, sent a special nurse to take charge of Sylvia's case. There was also an infant's nurse, and both had been taken into the doctor's confidence. So now there was an elaborate conspiracy--no less than five women and two men, all occupied in keeping a secret from Sylvia. It was a thing so contrary to my convictions that I was never free from the burden of it for a moment. Was it my duty to tell her?

Dr. Perrin no longer referred to the matter--I realised that both he and Dr. Gibson considered the matter settled. Was it conceivable that anyone of sound mind could set out, deliberately and in cold blood, to betray such a secret? But I had maintained all my life the right of woman to know the truth, and was I to back down now, at the first test of my convictions?

When the news reached Douglas van Tuiver that his wife had been informed of the infant's blindness, there came a telegram saying that he was coming. There was much excitement, of course, and Aunt Varina came to me, in an attempt to secure a definite pledge of silence. When I refused it, Dr. Perrin came again, and we fought the matter over for the better part of a day and night.

He was a polite little gentleman, and he did not tell me that my views were those of a fanatic, but he said that no woman could see things in their true proportion, because of her necessary ignorance concerning the nature of men, and the temptations to which they were exposed. I replied that I believed I understood these matters thoroughly, and I went on, quite simply and honestly, to make clear to him that this was so. In the end my pathetically chivalrous little Southern gentleman admitted everything I asked. Yes, it was true that these evils were ghastly, and that they were increasing, and that women were the worst sufferers from men. There might even be something in my idea that the older women of the community should devote themselves to this service, making themselves race-mothers, and helping, not merely in their homes, but in the schools and churches, to protect and save the future generations.

But all that was in the future, he argued, while here was a case which had gone so far that "letting in the light" could only blast the life of two people, making it impossible for a young mother ever again to tolerate the father of her child. I argued that Sylvia was not of the hysterical type, but I could not make him agree that it was possible to predict what the att.i.tude of any woman would be. His ideas were based on one peculiar experience he had had--a woman patient who had said to him: "Doctor, I know what is the matter with me, but for G.o.d's sake don't let my husband find out that I know, because then I should feel that my self-respect required me to leave him!"

23. The Master-of-the-House was coming! You could feel the quiver of excitement in the air of the place. The boatmen were polis.h.i.+ng the bra.s.ses of the launch; the yard-man was raking up the dry strips of palm from beneath the cocoanut trees; Aunt Varina was ordering new supplies, and entering into conspiracies with the cook. The nurses asked me timidly, what was He like, and even Dr. Gibson, a testy old gentleman who had clashed violently with me on the subject of woman's suffrage, and had avoided me ever since as a suspicious character, now came and confided his troubles. He had sent home for a trunk, and the graceless express companies had sent it astray. Now he was wondering if it was necessary for him to journey to Key West and have a suit of dinner clothes made over night. I told him that I had not sent for any party-dresses, and that I expected to meet Mr. Douglas van Tuiver at his dinner-table in plain white linen. His surprise was so great that I suspected the old gentleman of having wondered whether I meant to retire to a "second-table" when the Master-of-the-House arrived.

I went away by myself, seething with wrath. Who was this great one whom we honoured? Was he an inspired poet, a maker of laws, a discoverer of truth? He was the owner of an indefinite number of millions of dollars--that was all, and yet I was expected, because of my awe of him, to abandon the cherished convictions of my lifetime. The situation was one that challenged my fighting blood. This was the hour to prove whether I really meant the things I talked.

On the morning of the day that van Tuiver was expected, I went early to Aunt Varina's room. She was going in the launch, and was in a state of fl.u.s.tration, occupied in putting on her best false hair. "Mrs. Tuis," I said, "I want you to let me go to meet Mr. van Tuiver instead of you."

I will not stop to report the good lady's outcries. I did not care, I said, whether it was proper, nor did I care whether, as she finally hinted, it might not be agreeable to Mr. van Tuiver. I was sorry to have to thrust myself upon him, but I was determined to go, and would let nothing prevent me. And all at once she yielded, rather surprising me by the suddenness of it. I suppose she concluded that van Tuiver was the man to handle me, and the quicker he got at it the better.

It is a trying thing to deal with the rich and great. If you treat them as the rest of the world does, you are a tuft-hunter; if you treat them as the rest of the world pretends to, you are a hypocrite; whereas, if you deal with them truly, it is hard not to seem, even to yourself, a b.u.mptious person. I remember trying to tell myself on the launch-trip that I was not in the least excited; and then, standing on the platform of the railroad station, saying: "How can you expect not to be excited, when even the railroad is excited?"

"Will Mr. van Tuiver's train be on time?" I asked, of the agent.

"'Specials' are not often delayed," he replied, "at least, not Mr. van Tuiver's."

The engine and its two cars drew up, and the traveller stepped out upon the platform, followed by his secretary and his valet. I went forward to meet him. "Good morning, Mr. van Tuiver."

I saw at once that he did not remember me. "Mrs. Abbott," I prompted. "I came to meet you."

"Ah," he said. He had never got clear whether I was a sewing-woman, or a tutor, or what, and whenever he erred in such matters, it was on the side of caution.

"Your wife is doing well," I said, "and the child as well as could be expected."

"Thank you," he said. "Did no one else come?"

"Mrs. Tuis was not able," I said, diplomatically, and we moved towards the launch.

24. He did not offer to help me into the vessel, but I, crude Western woman, did not miss the attention. We seated ourselves in the upholstered leather seats in the stern, and when the "luggage" had been stowed aboard, the little vessel swung away from the pier. Then I said: "If you will pardon me, Mr. van Tuiver, I should like to talk with you privately."

He looked at me for a moment, and then answered, abruptly: "Yes, madam."

The secretary rose and went forward.

The whirr of the machinery and the strong breeze made by the boat's motion, made it certain that no one could hear us, and so I began my attack: "Mr. van Tuiver, I am a friend of your wife's. I came here to help her in this crisis, and I came to-day to meet you because it was necessary for someone to talk to you frankly about the situation.

You will understand, I presume, that Mrs. Tuis is not--not very well informed about the matters in question."

His gaze was fixed intently upon me, but he said not a word. After waiting, I continued: "Perhaps you will wonder why your wife's physicians could not have handled the matter. The reason is, there is a woman's side to such questions and often it is difficult for men to understand it. If Sylvia knew the truth, she could speak for herself; so long as she does not know it, I shall have to take the liberty of speaking for her."

Again there was a pause. He did nothing more than watch me, yet I could feel his affronted maleness rising up for battle. I waited on purpose to compel him to speak.

"May I ask," he inquired, at last, "what you mean by the 'truth' that you refer to?"

"I mean," I said, "the cause of the infant's affliction."

His composure was a thing to wonder at. He did not show by the flicker of an eyelash any sign of uneasiness.

"Let me explain one thing," I continued. "I owe it to Dr. Perrin to make clear that he had nothing whatever to do with my coming into possession of the secret. In fact, as he will no doubt tell you, I knew it before he did; it is possible that you owe it to me that the infant is not disfigured as well as blind."

I paused again. "If that be true," he said, with unshaken formality, "I am obliged to you." What a man!

I continued: "My one desire and purpose is to protect my friend. So far, the secret has been kept from her. I consented to this, because her very life was at stake, it seemed to us all. But now she is well enough to know, and the question is SHALL she know. I need hardly tell you that Dr. Perrin thinks she should not, and that he has been using his influence to persuade me to agree with him; so also has Mrs. Tuis----"

Then I saw the first trace of uncertainty in his eyes. "There was a critical time," I explained, "when Mrs. Tuis had to be told. You may be sure, however, that no hint of the truth will be given by her. I am the only person who is troubled with the problem of Sylvia's rights."

I waited. "May I suggest, Mrs.--Mrs. Abbott--that the protection of Mrs. van Tuiver's rights can be safely left to her physicians and her husband?"

"One would wish so, Mr. van Tuiver, but the medical books are full of evidence that women's rights frequently need other protection."

I perceived that he was nearing the end of his patience now. "You make it difficult for me to talk to you," he said. "I am not accustomed to having my affairs taken out of my hands by strangers."

"Mr. van Tuiver," I replied, "in this most critical matter it is necessary to speak without evasion. Before her marriage Sylvia made an attempt to safeguard herself in this very matter, and she was not dealt with fairly."

At last I had made a hole in the mask! His face was crimson as he replied: "Madam, your knowledge of my private affairs is most astonis.h.i.+ng. May I inquire how you learned these things?"

I did not reply at once, and he repeated the question. I perceived that this was to him the most important matter--his wife's lack of reserve!

"The problem that concerns us here," I said, "is whether you are willing to repair the error you made. Will you go frankly to your wife and admit your responsibility----"

He broke in, angrily: "Madam, the a.s.sumption you are making is one I see no reason for permitting."

"Mr. van Tuiver," said I, "I hoped that you would not take that line of argument. I perceive that I have been _naive._"

"Really, madam!" he replied, with cruel intent, "you have not impressed me so!"

I continued unshaken: "In this conversation it will be necessary to a.s.sume that you are responsible for the presence of the disease."

"In that case," he replied, haughtily, "I can have no further part in the conversation, and I will ask you to drop it at once."

I might have taken him at his word and waited, confident that in the end he would have to come and ask for terms. But that would have seemed childish to me, with the grave matters we had to settle. After a minute or two, I said, quietly: "Mr. van Tuiver, you wish me to believe that previous to your marriage you had always lived a chaste life?"

He was equal to the effort it cost to control himself. He sat examining me with his cold grey eyes. I suppose I must have been as new and monstrous a phenomenon to him as he was to me.

At last, seeing that he would not reply, I said, coldly: "It will help us to get forward if you will give up the idea that it is possible for you to put me off, or to escape this situation."

"Madam," he cried, suddenly, "come to the point! What is it that you want? Money?"

I had thought I was prepared for everything; but this was an aspect of his world which I could hardly have been expected to allow for. I stared at him and then turned from the sight of him. "And to think that Sylvia is married to such a man!" I whispered, half to myself.