The time had arrived when I was to begin the nude of Boy in marble. It was to be my winter's work and I was eager to be well advanced with it before John went abroad again. I looked forward to his going with genuine regret. More and more Will had estranged himself from me: whether deliberately or not I was not prepared to answer. The relentless examination continued. What was it which held me to my husband? Did I still love him despite his infidelities, his ever-increasing neglect and selfishness? Or was it the tender memories of our youthful love at whose altar I worshipped, feeding the smouldering embers with incense of bruised and crushed illusions? Might I not, after all, with patience, devotion, tolerance and a single-heartedness of purpose lead his wandering steps back to me? If life was barren now, what should it be without him? No, I must find my solace in my pride in him; must squeeze what comfort I might in helping him on to success; always with the hope—hope!—the promise-crammed!
It had become a custom of mine to carry my perturbation of heart and mind to my boy's grave; there, in the silence and the nothingness of life, to find a balm and fortitude. It was upon such a mission I set out one day late in September. Under the early autumn haze the meadows lay carpeted with golden rod and fleecy lace of the Queen's handkerchief. Soothed by this tryst with my loved one I returned to town prepared to take up the battle. Arriving at the Grand Central Station I decided to telephone to Will's club with the hope of finding he had returned during my absence. Stopping to pay the toll I glanced listlessly around the waiting-room. A familiar figure caused me to start forward, then draw back. There, coming through the station was my husband and his "star." From the handbags he carried—one of which I recognized as his—it was evident that they had come direct from the train. I recalled that Will had mentioned the fact that the star had recently bought a country residence. And, too, it recurred to me that, when on Saturday night Will had telephoned me that he was at a Turkish bath and would remain there all day, his voice had a far-away sound to it, as if the message were at long distance. Sunday and Monday had passed with no word from him. I now understood where he had been.... I watched them drive away in a hansom.... Then I took a car home.
CHAPTER XIX
IT had never before suggested itself to me that divorce was the only solution. Divorce had always appeared to me an acknowledgment of failure—failure of married life. When my son was taken from me I had cherished the delusion that our differences lay buried in his grave; that an adjustment of our married life was imminent.... Divorce! To give him his freedom; to turn me upon the world without anchor, ballast or compass.... A kind of terror took possession of me—not the terror of being thrown upon my own resources for a livelihood, since I was not dependent upon my husband for maintenance, a consideration which prevents many women from severing a bond which has become repugnant to them—but the terror of loneliness. I had already tasted of this bitterness—was I now to be surfeited with it? If only Boy had been spared to me! O, God, the pity of it all!... And yet, there was no other way. To carry on the farce of married relationship; to submit to him, feeling only revulsion, repugnance, was nothing short of prostitution. And had I not already prostituted the best that was in me? Already the corroding influences around me had begun to tell. Even John Gailbraith had noticed the change in me and had alluded to it under the veil of kindly intent. If I were to save anything from the wreckage I must begin now, at once—before it was too late. I had seen women, good women, stronger women than myself, break under the strain of neglect and loneliness.... Well, I should not break. Pride should sustain me.... The future ... no, I dared not yet think of the future. It made me quail and falter in my purpose—a purpose I determined to make known to my husband on his return.
Arriving at the studio the next morning earlier than was my custom (Will had not yet put in an appearance and the delay but strengthened my purpose), I found that John had not yet returned from breakfast. His small sleeping-quarters, giving upon the studio proper, were open and, without meaning to be curious, I paused in the doorway. A charcoal sketch caught my eye. It was my own likeness. Scattered about the room were other sketches in various stages of development. I turned away, closing the door behind me. A warm flush suffused my being. I told myself it was shame at having intruded where I had not been bidden.... The various models of my son stood about the room and beckoned me. I ran my fingers over the little head, the pouting lips, and laid my cheek to his in silent salutation. The flood-gates strained and throbbed, threatening to break through.... A hand closed over mine.... I knew the hand.... In my complete immersion of thought I had not heard him come in.... I bent and pressed my lips upon his hand.... We stood looking at each other. Something of the shock I felt was mirrored in his eyes.... "Margaret ... Margaret," he had said ... and I, all unyielding, had sought the solace of his arms....
Some time later he placed a chair for me and forced me gently down ... still quivering under the shock of revelation—revelation, not of what I had done, but of what I felt! The spurious sentiment which had held me to the past of things shook me with its last convulsive gasps.... Seated in front of me, his hands clasping mine, he read the confusion in my mind: confusion which speech alone could dissipate....
"I want you to know what is in my mind and heart.... Doubt, a great question over-shadows all else. I ask myself, can a woman love more than once? Is there a love for youth, a love for maturity?... You see, I am not sure that I really love you. I am haunted with the fear that my loneliness, my wounded pride, my unsatisfied life have caused me to seek consolation. And I have come to you for that consolation because I respect and admire you. Propinquity has proved that we are companionable and that we have much in common. But love demands something more than companionship, respect and admiration. You would demand something more.... Whether I am prepared to give you that which you demand is the question. As I feel now, I could not give you all the marriage relation implies. Do you understand my scruples? I have the feeling that to go from one man's arms to another's is nothing short of indecency. Perhaps time will alter the perspective. But I don't know, John, I don't know! You see I want to be honest with you. I want to promise nothing about which I am not sure.... Then, there is your side of it. Can I give all a man expects from the woman he makes his wife? What have I to give? The bloom of my womanhood, the ardent passion of youth is forever gone. What is left may not satisfy you.... It is right that you should go away at once ... but I shall be lonely.... God and my heart alone know how lonely I shall be...."
"Margaret, I thank you for your frankness. It only adds to my love for you. I appreciate and respect the feeling which bids you send me away at this time. Only don't sacrifice yourself to a prudish modesty; don't make a fetish of the past. Conserve your tender memories, if you will, but strip them of overvaluation.... You ask what have you to give.... Do you believe that because the bloom of your womanhood, your first passion and its fruition have belonged to another, that there is nothing left to give? Shall I be giving, does any man give, what he demands of a woman as the prerogative of his sex? You see, little woman, we are the victims of a false education. There is one standard for woman, a different standard for man. It is this faulty double standard which is responsible for so many unhappy marriages. Some day this will all be changed. There are signs even to-day of the awakening.... Rid your mind once and for all of the spectre that the past will stand between us. Don't stultify your womanhood with a sentimentalism which is the curse of your sex. Life lies before you. The motherhood which your nature is crying out for is your rightful heritage. Look ahead, dear. Be true to the best that is in you ... and remember ... I am waiting...."
I bade him good-bye—and had lingered. His strong hands clasped mine once more and held me there.... Mutely we looked into each other's eyes ... and thus my husband found us.... Coming in unannounced—whether intentionally was of small moment. We did not start; instead, I think he held me closer and met the other's sneer with a clear gaze....
"Drop my wife's hand! Drop it, I say!" Will raised his cane to strike. I heard it snap and saw the bits in the other's hand. They clenched and glared at each other....