By midnight she had only to wait quietly. In the old gray rag and the battered black hat she surveyed herself without emotion. Since making her last attempt to escape her relation to all these things had changed. They had become less significant, less important. 260 The emblems of the higher life which in the previous autumn she had buried with ritual and regret she now packed away in the closet, with hardly a second thought. The old gray rag which had then seemed the livery of a degraded life was now no more than the resumption of her reality.
“I’ll go as I came,” she had been saying to herself, all the evening. “I know he’d like me to take the things he’s given me; but I’d rather be just what I was.”
If there was any ritual in what she had done since Miss Walbrook had left her it was in the putting away of small things by which she didn’t want to be haunted.
“I couldn’t do it with this on,” she said of the plain gold band on her finger, to which, as a symbol of marriage, she had never attached significance in any case.
She took it off, therefore, and laid it on the dressing table.
“I couldn’t do it with this in my pocket,” she said of the purse containing a few dollars, with which Steptoe had kept her supplied.
This too she laid on the dressing table, becoming as penniless as when Judson Flack had put her out of doors. Somehow, to be penniless seemed to her an element in her new task, and an excuse for it.
Since Allerton had never made her a present there was nothing of this kind to discard. It had been part of his non-committal, impersonal attitude toward her that he had never given her a concrete sign that she meant anything to him whatever. He had thanked 261 her on occasions for the comforting quality he found in her presence. He had, in so many words, recognized the fact that when he got into a tantrum of nerves she could bring him out of it as no one else had ever done. He had also imparted to her the discovery that in reading to her, and trying to show her the point of view of a life superior to her own, he had for the first time in his life done something for someone else; but he had never gone beyond all this or allowed her to think that his heart was not given to “the girl he was engaged to.” In that at least he had been loyal to the mysterious princess, as the little mermaid could not but see.
She was not consciously denuded, as she would have felt herself six months earlier. As to that she was not thinking anything at all. Her motive, in setting free the prince from the “drag” on him which she now recognized herself to be, filled all her mental horizons. So dominated was she by this overwhelming impulse as to have no thought even for self-pity.
When a clock somewhere struck one she took it as the summons. From the dressing-table she picked up the scrawl in Steptoe’s hand, giving the name of Miss Henrietta Towell, at an address at Red Point, L. I. She knew Red Point, on the tip of Long Island, as a distant, partially developed suburb of Brooklyn. In the previous year she had gone with a half dozen other girl “supes” from the Excelsior Studio to “blow in” a quarter looking at the ocean steamers passing in and out. She had no intention of intruding on Miss Towell, but she couldn’t hurt Steptoe’s feelings by leaving the address behind her.