IV
After he had helped Kitty with the dishes, John Scidmore left the house for a walk. It was a calm, beautiful night, lit by a slender moon hung high in the heavens and stars twinkling cheerily. As he went along the elm-shaded streets, he drew in deep breaths, striving to steady the tumult within him.
Kitty's words hummed themselves into his inner consciousness. 'No, John, it wouldn't be necessary.' What did she really mean? Did she think he had the courage to settle such a question decisively—righteously? Did— He stopped, turning the phrase over in his mind. He knew that materially he had been a failure. People called him a nice fellow and let it go at that. Was it possible for his wife, the wife who had lived so close to all his weaknesses, to glorify him with so large a hope? The thought began to thrill him.
He heard the Old Library clock on the University campus chime nine. He began to walk slowly in the direction of the chiming clock. He was still undecided, still battling with his cowardice. The shrill whistle of an incoming train arrested him. This same train would swing back to San Francisco in ten minutes. He retraced his steps. In ten minutes— His legs seemed weighted. He wondered whether he would really catch it.
Standing before the massive façade of the Hotel Fairmont, John Scidmore had a fleeting hope that Julia Norris would not be at home. But almost as instantly he felt a desperate need to clear himself at once. If he waited even an hour he could not vouch for the outcome. He walked rapidly into the lobby, gave his name to the hotel clerk, and awaited the reply with beating heart. Mrs. Norris was in. A bell-boy, answering the clerk's summons, showed him to her apartments.
A maid ushered him into a reception room. He sank into one of the luxurious chairs, drumming upon its arms with nervous fingers.
A lamp on the centre table threw a rich, golden light over the surroundings. Thrown over a chair a lace scarf fell with the undulating softness of a cascade. Near a vase of blood-red roses a long white glove had been dropped carelessly.
He did not wait long. Julia Norris came toward him with her usual warm smile, and a hand outstretched in welcome. He stood up. She was very simply dressed, in white, and a band of velvet at her throat set off a fine cameo ringed with pearls, but her air of quiet elegance caught and held his resentful eyes.
A fierce, unreasoning hate began to sway him; for a moment his vision blurred.
As she stepped back to pick up her lace scarf from the chair, John Scidmore recovered his poise.
'I was afraid you would be out,' he began inadequately.
She threw the scarf about her shoulders. 'I was preparing to drift downstairs to watch the dancing,' she answered. 'You caught me just in time.'
He stood irresolutely, almost awkwardly, watching her dainty manipulations of the filmy lace. Then quite suddenly, so suddenly as to surprise even himself, he blurted out,—
'I lied to you this morning. I took your order for insurance. I forgot to place it.'
She stood for a moment in silence.
'What made you—'
John Scidmore shrugged. His vision was clearing. He felt quite calm.
'You suggested the idea yourself. You were so ready to take the blame. I suppose it was self-preservation. I began to strike blindly—as any desperate man would. I'm not what they call a success—I never have been. You know how it is, some people— Oh, well! Some of us don't get by, that's all.'
He turned away. Julia Norris touched him on the shoulder.
'John, can't you see that the ten thousand dollars doesn't matter to me? But you and Kitty—you and Kitty do matter.'
He began to crush his hat between his clasped hands.
She threw the scarf from her shoulders. 'Look here, John—'
He stopped her with an abrupt gesture. 'I've won this victory for Kitty's sake,' he said. 'This is the first time in my life I've lived up to her hope of me. If you were a failure you'd realize how much that means.'
She was standing by the vase of roses, scattering petals with ruthless fingers. She crossed over to him and put both her hands in his.
'You're not a failure, John Scidmore,' she said simply.
The rose-petals were dropping in a steady shower on the table. He saw them lying lightly on the white glove. He felt a great relief as he put his clenched hand to his eyes.