I. A. R. Wylie

“ Its brightness hurt him like a knife in the heart. It made him feel utterly outcast. How often before their marriage he had paced, a gallant, reckless lover, beneath her window and looked up, thinking, "One day!" And now she was going. Another man—that drear, mannerless, little upstart, Rosslyn—would take his place, would wait, as he had once waited in a tropic garden, for her signal; would hear her beloved voice, her beloved laughter. ”

“ Gallant Digby Calvert! Gallant husband!
His house looked as usual—calm and impregnable with wealth. But the passers-by, glancing up furtively at the windows, had a vision of what lay behind their sleekness—the still young, once beautiful woman, holding out hour by hour, her eyes fixed on the distance for the rescue that might still come; the man who loved her, reassuring and steady, heart sick with dread; the faithful friend who never faltered in her courage, the household, like an ironic commentary, running smoothly on its well-oiled wheels. ”

“ In the old days it had been such fun—stealing wicked glances at each other: "Oh, my darling, how lovely when all these stupid people have gone!" But now she never looked at him.
"It's nothing short of a resurrection," some one commented congratulatingly.
But it was Lucy who told the truth.
"She has grown more beautiful than ever," she said.
They stood together on the edge of the group that surrounded Claire like a court. Digby didn't want to be there. It wasn't dignified. He had tried to keep away. But he was drawn back each time as though by a fine strong thread. He made himself talk to Lucy. ”

“ Even Rosslyn himself, ill-bred beggar that he was, might be a victim.
And if Claire didn't love Rosslyn, then whom did she love? She loved some one. Love had been in that laugh—in that low-spoken sentence.
"Worth dying for."
Why had it been so dark that he had not read her eyes? Then he would have known. And to-morrow it would be too late.
He made up his mind. He would see her—now. He would tell her the truth. He did not love Lucy. He was not going with her. He couldn't. There was no code existent that forced a man to be unfaithful to his wife. ”

“ It's not your fault. Claire understands better than any one."
He was silent. He didn't trust his voice. She comforted him immeasurably. And yet he knew that she herself was in bitter need of comfort. He glanced swiftly at her profile and saw how pale she was—deathly pale. She loved Claire. There had always been something between these two—a rare and exquisite understanding, such as is possible only between women, which had sometimes left him out side. Somehow he hadn't minded. He loved beautiful things and he saw that it was beautiful, their closeness to each other. ”

“ You've been perfect. I'd like to call you Stephen, if you don't mind. My name's Claire, you know. It seems rather silly for dying people to be so formal, don't you think? That sort of thing doesn't matter any more."
He held her hand close. He felt certain that she knew and that she was saying, "Never mind. It's all right now." He was amazed to find that he was happy—extraordinarily happy, like some one who had been bound hand and foot and was suddenly set free. ”

“ Doctors always ordered people holidays. Rosslyn had done it himself repeatedly, especially when at a loss. He saw now how absurd it was and how ironically his patients must have smiled to themselves.
He went slowly. It had been a great strain. Now it was over. Of course he had known. At the bottom of their hearts every one had known. She herself had been the least self-deceiving of any of them. He remembered the compassionate, enigmatic smile with which she had met his cheerful protestations and Digby's incessant plan making.
Poor Digby! ”

“ For his pallor and the expression of bewildered consternation, he made a fine figure of a man—fair skinned and upright, with clear eyes and square shoulders and lean flanks. He looked so strong—the very embodiment of security. He couldn't connect himself with the thought of death—dissolution—simply couldn't. And yet in two months—at the outside—Claire his wife—the romance of his life—would be gone beyond his reach. ”

“ He wouldn't laugh much with Lucy. Lucy was serious minded at bottom. Her sense of humour was quiet and elderly. She had been born elderly. Claire felt that Digby and she had been born hopelessly and incurably young. That was why Lucy had been so precious to them both.
His wonderful, jolly laughter—the gay, wonderful days! Supposing she had never been ill—— It would have been then as he said—they would have grown old side by side, kept step. They would have learned whatever life had to teach them of pain and death together. ”

“ You know—don't you?—that from the first day I set eyes on you I never looked at any one else; I never wanted to. It wasn't only that you seemed to me the loveliest woman in the world. You were my friend and my companion. Wherever I went you came, too—in spirit, in thought, in action. We two—we were just two parts of one person, weren't we?"
"Yes, dear."
"It would have gone on like that. We weren't just in love. We were real lovers. We'd have grown older—slowly—side by side—adjusting ourselves to the same measure. ”

“ The garden made a fitting background. Digby couldn't help being proud of it. The sunshine and the blue sky, paling to twilight, made the prettily dressed women look like living flowers, and the men their sombre, careful gardeners. Claire sat in the midst of them. She was radiant. Wherever he went Digby seemed to see her. ”

“ Other people had loved the beautiful, happy Claire Calvert, but he had loved the disfigured, suffering woman. He remembered the day of their first meeting quite well. She had come into his consulting room and he had scarcely looked at her. Women—people generally—meant nothing to him. A patient was either a sick body or a sick ego. He was, in fact, a hard man, a fighter who had chosen disease as his enemy, and the fight was all that he cared about. He had never loved any one in his life. ”

“ She might make a good traveller, but she would be a precious slow one. Everything would have to be done with order and reason. Not like Claire, who was ready at a moment's notice to dash off to the most absurd places—hatboxes and all. That time they had set off for Cairo, for instance; and landed in Honolulu.
He heard Lucy's voice—warm, maternal, a trifle fat sounding perhaps. Oh, he loved her deeply, deeply. A true friend. No man could ask more. Still, a true friend ought not to run off with a friend's husband.
"Are you sure, Digby, that you want to go?" ”

“ Lucy, they've been rather wonderful—these two years, haven't they? I mean—life isn't just happiness, is it? I didn't know any one like Claire could be so brave and patient; or that any one could have such a friend as you have been to us. ”

“ She was like an exquisite, many-hued bird preening itself after the storm, or a butterfly that had broken from its chrysalis. The dying, necessitous human being had gone. She lay there because she chose—luxuriating and beautiful—rising slenderly out of a foam of white, her dark hair crowned with gold, and something shining in the delicate oval face that he had never seen before.
He went toward her because she was watching him and waiting. But he went heavily. She gave him her hand. How often he had kissed its piteousness, its veined and bony piteousness. ”

“ She wondered why that customhouse official had come into his mind from nowhere, as it seemed. Unless, of course, he had been planning things with Lucy. Nothing was more likely. And yet—— He could hardly have forgotten something else; something that had happened afterward, when the laughter had passed over them like a happy wind—how they had sat, hand in hand, watching the dawn break, thanking God secretly in a light-hearted awe-struck gratitude—for being so happy with each other. ”

“ It makes me feel utterly unreal."
"Sometimes I have to pinch myself to make sure I am really awake," Lucy said. "After all, Claire and I have been such friends."
Her point of view seemed to him very trivial. What did a mere friendship matter? A friendship between women. Negligible. That weak-kneed hound, Rosslyn!
"Of course I can't interfere," he said. "Everybody makes their own fate. But what she sees in him, God alone knows."
"What do you see in me, my dear?" Lucy asked. ”

“ You will suffer frightfully, but then you'll begin to get better. In a few months you will be your old self, the self you haven't been for two years—since we began to lose each other. Besides, I love Steve Rosslyn."
But of course she couldn't. Only the dying can face the truth.
"I want you to be very quiet and listen," she said faintly. "You know, the end might come any time, and there's something I want to say—to both of you. At first—I meant to say it only to Lucy. But we three love one another. We can surely trust one another."
He bent over her.
"Claire—my darling—what is it?" ”

“ It's not that; not a sacrifice. Digby, you and Lucy are young still; young enough to be very happy. I want you—when the time comes—to marry each other."
He stood with his shoulders thrust back. He looked very handsome and very stern.
"Claire, you don't know what you're saying."
"Yes, I do. I've thought it all out. I haven't much strength. You mustn't make me say things over and over again. Digby, dear, you will marry. You couldn't live alone. You might marry some one to whom I should just be a hateful thought. ”

“ They had given Claire a hand glass, and every now and again she took it up and looked at herself. And she saw that she was growing young and beautiful.
The windows stood wide open. It was a warm and lovely summer, and to-morrow she was to go out into the garden for the first time. And after that the wheels of life would begin to spin again—faster and faster. Presently she would go abroad—the Riviera probably; Monte Carlo. She smiled involuntarily. Oh, the gay days! How they had laughed sometimes. Digby understood laughter. ”

“ In his place had come a man to whom death was the commonplace of life—a grim ungracious comrade who, for all his indifference to suffering, knew what suffering meant. He cared nothing for the laughter and beauty which she had lost. ”

“ And there was that Rosslyn fellow. Of course he had to be there. In a way, he was the hero of the afternoon. Oh, very much the hero. He had saved her life. Good Lord, he looked as though he had slept in that coat! He didn't seem to know what to do with his hands or his mouth. And Claire loved him! There were things beyond mortal understanding.
"Look here, Lucy. We can't go on like this. It isn't endurable. I'm ready if you are. The sooner we cut the painter and get off, the better. ”

“ She had a sudden quite primitive impulse to hit him. He looked so handsome and assured, as though he were convinced that any sacrifice would be worth while. She wanted to tell him, "My dear, as far as I'm concerned you're not worth one of her shoe laces," and then go up to Claire and put her arms over her shoulder and say, "Let's begin all over again. It's been too silly. Let's forget the tiresome fellow." ”

“ They turned quickly, guiltily. Twilight covered the garden with a vague enchantment. Lucy Garfield stumbled. He gave her his arm. He knew that she had seen too. Her hand trembled with foreknowledge. A moment later she drew away from him and went on alone.
III
Claire had heard Stephen Rosslyn's car turn out of the drive. ”

“ What do you expect?"
"That we should all behave with dignity and kindliness. There's no need for resentment. Something has happened that can't be changed. We four have just got to go our ways.
"Lucy and I; you—and—and that man?"
"And Stephen Rosslyn," she agreed.
As she spoke they heard Rosslyn's car turn into the drive. ”